


The Collector

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a raid on the house containing a bizarre assortment of magical creatures, Bobby Singer, the sheriff of a quiet town in Montana, takes in an orphaned angel named Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no such place as Salmon County, but it's based on rural areas I know along the Montana/Idaho border. This one is mostly told from Bobby's POV. There's some mild Bobby/Ellen (if you squint), and some mild pre-slash Dean/Cas (they're both still kids).
> 
> Also wanted to mention that although there's no real explicit violence, some bad stuff happens (mainly to the bad guys). Bobby owns a couple of hellhounds: they mostly act goofy (they're dogs, after all), but they don't mess around.

_“It’s a collector, Bobby.”_

“Jody, I’m on my way home.”

_“Nope, definitely a collector. You better get your ass over here, Sheriff.”_

Bobby grumbled, “Balls,” and jerked his car into a U-turn, hitting the switch for the flashing lights. He decided to forgo the siren – folks tended to get grumpy about that. He drove, one elbow jutting out the window. It was getting dark, but it was a warm summer night, and he liked the feel of the wind on his face. He fished his cell phone off the dash and hit the speed dial, thus violating a couple of his own local laws. “Dean?”

 _“Hi Unka Bobby!”_ came a cheery voice.

“Whatever you’re up to, boy, you stop it.”

 _“I’m not up to anything!”_ But Bobby could hear a high-pitched giggle in the background. 

“I’ve got a late one. Can you get dinner started for Sam?”

_“Sure thing, Unka Bobby!”_

“All right. I’ll see you boys later.”

 _“Bye, Unka Bobby.”_ Another voice chimed in _“Byeeee!”_ Bobby cracked a smile as he dropped the phone back on the dash. The Winchester boys were a handful, but even he had to admit, taking them in was probably the best thing that had happened to him after Karen had passed. 

He peered up ahead as the address Jody had transmitted came in sight. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as he pulled up in front of what had, just yesterday, appeared for all the world to be simply a vacant lot. Now the space was inhabited by a huge, dilapidated Victorian mansion – something that would have worked just fine in an old monster movie, maybe with some flashing lightning and Bela Lugosi. There were now cop cars surrounding the place, light bars flashing, and uniformed personnel swarming around the grounds. There were also a couple of Magical Animal Control vans pulled up, and folks carting various caged creatures to and fro.

“Is that a phoenix?” he asked, spying a rather sad-looking bird being transferred to a van.

“ _Was_ a phoenix,” said Jody. She held out a paper mask. “You might wanna put on one of these before you go in.”

“Pretty bad in there?”

Jody nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird. They’ve got some amazing stuff, things none of us have ever seen before, but it doesn’t look like anybody’s been feeding or watering them, much less cleaning cages.”

“What’s the story here?” asked Bobby as they walked up the path towards the front door.

“One of the local kids lost a ball in the yard, hopped the fence, and saw the house. We think some of the old warding just plain wore out.”

“Owners?” asked Bobby.

“The property is under the name Sinclair. Best we can determine, the wife passed away in a nursing home a few years back.”

“Years?” asked Bobby. They had reached the threshold, and he decided to take Jody’s advice and put on the mask when the smell hit him. “Damn, this place reeks.”

He and Jody walked into the living room. What had obviously once been a fine residence was now falling apart under layers of fur and feathers and feces and god knows what else. There were cages stacked everywhere, and all variety of exotic creatures. Someone was carefully transporting a terrarium full of fairies, although it appeared several of them were ailing. And there was a small basilisk writhing around in a fishbowl. There was also the preserved skeleton of a mermaid

“It looks like someone’s been in here since then. I've got Garth trying to track them down.”

“You put in a call to Ellen?”

Jody sighed. “The shelter is already pretty crowded. I suspect we’ll have to put down a lot of these guys, especially the sick ones.”

Bobby shook his head, wishing folks could be more responsible with their magical critters. Sure, hellhound puppies could be awful cute, but what about when they started digging up the neighbor’s garden, or using his French poodle for a chew toy? “I suppose we better start making a list, checking it twice.” It was gonna be a long night.

“Jody, I got the name of your heir to the property!” shouted Garth, who came running across the living room, waving a folder.

“Garth, watch yourself!” scolded Bobby, but just as Garth slipped in a pile of something yucky and went sliding halfway across the living room coming to a halt only when his boot crushed through a rotten floorboard. 

“Dangit!” he said. “These were my new boots!”

“Come here, boy,” said Bobby as he and Jody went to assist the deputy. They gave him a yank, and his boot came up, along with the floorboard. 

“Did you twist your ankle?” asked Jody.

“I don’t think so, ma’am,” said Garth, who was now hopping around, trying to pry the board off his shoe. 

“So who’s the title owner?” asked Jody, who was already shuffling through the papers.

“It should have passed to their son,” Garth explained. He tried sitting down on a couch, but ended up nearly squashing some leprechauns, who were not amused. “Oh, sorry. But the will was amended a few years back, and it ended up in the hands of a third party, name of Bender.”

“The Benders,” huffed Jody. “They're breeders. Real scumbags. Ellen's run into them before.”

“This set-up went to some breeders?” muttered Bobby. His knees cracked as he squatted down over the hole in the floor Garth had created. “You see something move down there?”

Jody walked over and peered down. She took out a flashlight and aimed the beam downwards. “I think you're right.” She tapped the radio on her shoulder. “Hey. Have we checked the basement yet?”

 _“What basement?”_ came the reply.

“You haven't found a basement? Because that sure looks like one down there,” said Bobby. 

“Warded?” asked Jody.

Bobby stood up, his knees giving another protest. “Call in the anti-warding boys. We need to find that entrance and check down there.” Yes, it was going to be a long night.

 

They finally managed to extricate Garth's boot from the rotten floorboard, and some time later, one of the deputies found the right spell and opened up the door to the basement: the doorway was in a small hall closet, warded by some arcane sigils. They finally resorted to bolt-cutters, as the last few sigils proved impossible to translate, and Bobby was quite frankly getting anxious for his dinner.

They donned the masks and drew weapons for the walk downstairs – there was no telling what could be hidden there. But Bobby holstered his service revolver soon enough. The residents included some powerful critters, but the area looked like it had not been tended to, and there were few prizes left alive, much less dangerous. Bobby knocked on the bars of the cage that had once housed a Minotaur: it was now half mummified. Evidently whoever was taking care of the creatures up above hadn't bothered to venture down here much.

“Bobby!” 

Bobby aimed his flashlight down to where Jody was crouching at the end of the room. He came and hunkered down beside her. He started to talk, but she shushed him. 

She trained her light into the large, darkened cage. Bobby gasped at what he saw. Even in their sorry state, the wings were magnificent. 

“Angel?” he whispered to Jody.

“I believe so,” she murmured back. 

“I never seen one before! Not in the flesh.”

“Me neither.”

And then Jody flicked the light over the body. There were two terrified eyes staring out from beneath the wings. And then just as quickly, they vanished.

“Somethin' alive in there!” said Bobby. “We gotta get it out!”

“I don't even know who to call. Angels, Bobby! Is it safe?”

“Hell if I know. Garth!” Bobby called. “Get some damn welding torches down there and cut through the bars.” Soon there were lights and sparks, and before long, they had cut through a couple of bars, leaving a gap just big enough for Bobby Singer to squeeze himself through, as he wouldn't dream of leaving the task to a deputy. He paused by the larger body, checking for a pulse just in case. Sadly, she was cold and dead as she appeared. 

And then he carefully raised up one of the broad wings. 

There it was, filthy and terrified and clinging to its dead mother: an angel child, staring wide-eyed. 

“I'm Sheriff Singer. Bobby,” said Bobby, who wasn't sure what else to do. “I need you to come on with me. Can you do that?” He held out a hand, but the young angel shrunk away.

“Anybody got a cookie, something like that?” asked Bobby. Someone handed over a chocolate peanut butter granola bar. Bobby unwrapped it and held it out. “You look hungry, little guy. Want a bite?” Bobby took a bit off the end and popped it in his own mouth. “See? Good.” His stomach rumbled a little. The angel wasn't the only hungry creature down there.

Slowly, tentatively, the little creature edged forward. He took a sniff, and the snatched the bar and crammed the entire thing into his mouth. “Hungry, huh?” Bobby said softly. He reached out a hand to Jody. “Blanket?” he whispered, and she passed one through. He gently wrapped it around the little angel's bony shoulders. “All right, kid, you're gonna come with me now.” He picked up the angel – he weighed nothing – and stood up, pulling him back out of the bars.

_“Lvlo!”_

Bobby was startled at the strength of the cry. The child's eyes were wide as he gestured back towards the wretched figure of his mother, lying on the floor. Bobby could think of no comfort, no healing words. “We're goin' now. We'll take real good care of you,” was the best he could do.

 

“Ellen, we gotta do something. Kid's half dead.”

_“I'm already full here, Bobby. Thanks to you!”_

Bobby glanced over at the angel boy, sitting in the passenger seat, swaddled in heavy blankets. Someone had donated a sandwich from their lunchbox, so he was feasting on a PB&J. “Look, he's in a bad way, and he needs to be cleaned up and some stuff dressed.” Bobby had noticed how tattered the kid's wings looked, and he was pretty sure there was lice or worse crawling in the dark feathers. 

_“Angels need special arrangements. You know that! I just don't have the facilities here, Bobby! Can't you find something else for him, at least for tonight?”_

Bobby looked a the angel again, who was making a mess of the sandwich. He muttered something through a gooey mouth that sounded a whole lot like, “Olani mtif oi!”

“Well, I guess I got a spare room-”

_“Thank you Bobby. It's just for a few days.”_

“A few days? I thought you said-”

_“I'll send over some meds for the wings. Gotta go! Let me know how it goes.”_

Bobby glared at his radio. “What's the word, Sheriff?” asked Jody, who was hanging at the passenger side window. She reached in a hand and tousled the angel kid's hair.

“Seems like I gotta take this one in a few days. Ellen's in over her head.”

“Want me to take over here?”

Bobby settled back. His stomach growled. “Jody, I owe you dinner.”

Jody's face broke into a grin. “You owe me more than that! You head home, Sheriff.”

Bobby nodded his thanks, and then started his vehicle. “All right, kiddo, looks like you're bunking with me for now.” The small angel briefly looked up from his sandwich as the engine rumbled. And then when they began to move, his eyes went wide as saucers, and he lunged towards the window.

“Whoa!” said Bobby, who grabbed a fistful of the blanket to try and restrain him. But to Bobby's surprise, he wasn't trying to escape. Instead, he sat up on his knees, his head poked out of the window, eyes closed, hair ruffling. “You think you're a dog now?” asked Bobby. He chuckled and kept on driving, though he made sure to keep it slow just so nobody fell out. “Is it like flyin' maybe?” he asked. But the kid didn't answer. He seemed off in his own little world. Maybe that was for the best.

They pulled up outside Bobby's house. Bobby grabbed the angel to carry him, and was surprised at the length of the spindly arms and legs hanging out of the blanket. The kid was older than he'd judged back at the mansion: he might even be Dean's age, just underfed. He heard hoofbeats, and was surprised to see Amalthea trot up to the fence.

“You're supposed to be back in your stable for the night,” Bobby scolded. Unicorns weren't the most obedient of breeds, but it was strange to see her out at night. She bowed her head, and the little angel reached over to scratch her nose. Amalthea had come to live at Bobby's place after another night like this one, when they had raided another collector who had been neglecting his creatures. Bobby had taken her in for a few days, as he had room, but then the kids had gotten attached to her, and, to be honest, Bobby started to develop a certain amount of affection for the stubborn beast as well. 

“He's just stayin' the night,” Bobby told Amalthea. Unicorns tended to get fussy if you weren't polite. “This here is Amalthea, and she doesn't usually let new folks touch her, so consider yourself lucky.” 

But the unicorn wasn't finished. She lowered her head, and bopped the angel gently on the forehead with her horn. And then, apparently satisfied, she turned and headed off. Bobby hoped she was going back to her stall, but you never could tell with those creatures.

“Let's get you inside, and we'll try and get you cleaned up.” He opened the door, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the boys, and turned on a couple lights in the living room. They were immediately greeted by a couple of red-eyed hellhounds. “Oh, Cerberus, Orthrus, this little guy's gonna stay the night.” Bobby worried that the boy would be frightened of the large beasts, but, as with Amalthea, he seemed mostly curious. The dogs, on their part, enjoyed licking up the remnants of the angel's peanut butter and jelly sandwich around his face. “You two, cut that out,” Bobby said, though not too sternly, as the angel actually emitted a small laugh. Cerberus and Orthrus, like the damn unicorn, were the result of a raid on a collector. Bobby had taken them for a day or so, but then the kids had named the stupid things, and what were you gonna do?

“Hey Unka Bobby I left your dinner in the oven - how'd it go?” bellowed Dean, who was already halfway into the living room. Spying the angel boy, he ground to a halt and stared.

“Boy, you should have been to bed hours ago.”

“I couldn't sleep. What are you?” asked Dean, now marching up to stare at the angel. The angel stared on back. Dean, for a rare moment, actually seemed lost for words. When Bobby thought about this later, all that came to mind was the phrase, “love at first sight.” But that was later, and we shouldn't be getting ahead of ourselves.

“We had a collector,” said Bobby. 

Dean's eyes grew wide. “Did he have a manticore?”

“Actually, he did, but it was in bad shape when we got there.”

“Why'd he have a boy?” asked Dean.

Bobby smiled. “Well, this here is an angel.” 

“What? No such thing!” Dean protested. 

Bobby wasn't sure if the angel could understand, but he thought the kid looked a little hurt at this. “See here,” he said, pulling the blanket aside, revealing the wings. “What do you think now?”

The wings were quite honestly pretty ratty-looking and neglected and dirty, but the boy held them up, and Dean was pretty obviously impressed as all hell. “Whoa! You're an angel.”

“Is that so?” chuckled Bobby.

“Why is everybody up?” came a little voice.

“Sammy, I tolja to go to bed!” scolded Dean as his little brother came stumbling out, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Wow! Did you come for my toof?” asked Sam, running up to Cas and prodding at a loose front tooth.

“Sammy! This isn't the tooth fairy!” huffed Dean.

“Then what is he?”

“He's an angel, poopy-head!”

“I'm not a poopy-head!”

“You two!” snapped Bobby, but if he was going to scold the boys, it was interrupted by a couple of dumb hellhounds making a lot of fuss and bother. “Someone at the door. It's probably the stuff Ellen sent over.”

“Oooo, Ellen?” said Dean, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You, you can bet got rid of,” grumbled Bobby, trying to make his way through a hellhound tangle to get the door. “Rufus? What are you doin' here at this time of night.”

“Ellen ordered me to get my ass over here with some supplies,” said Rufus, holding up a shopping bag. “And when that lady talks, it ain't a good idea to argue.” His eyes scanned the living room. “I'll be god damned!” he exclaimed when he spied the angel.

“Probably,” said Bobby as Rufus handed him the bag and then invited himself in, striding over and crouching down in front of the angel. 

“A genuine _malak_ , aren't you?” Dean sidled over and stood protectively at the angel's side. “What's your name, kid?”

“I dunno if he talks,” said Dean.

“He talked. He was fussing for his mama, I think,” said Bobby softly. “You know any Enochian, Rufus?”

“I'm pretty rusty.” He put a hand on his chest. “Rufus!” he said, patting his chest. “Ru-fus.”

The angel scowled. “Bruu-foos?” he finally asked.

“Haha, you're Broofis!” giggled Sam. 

“Very disrespectful, young man!” said Rufus, grabbing his cap off and plopping it over Sam's head, which only made the youngster giggle more.

“Let me try!” said Dean. He stepped in front of the angel, standing up straight. “I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sammy!” he said pointing. “And this her is Uncle Bobby, and Rufus Turner. Who are you?”

“That might be a bit confusing, now boy,” cautioned Bobby.

“Dean?” whispered the angel. 

“Yeah. I'm Dean. Who're you?”

The angel stared deeply into his eyes. “Castiel.”

“Cas-tea-ell?”

“Cas-a-lell!” chimed Sam.

“That sounds familiar,” said Rufus. “I might look it up in the lore.” He turned to Bobby. “Meantime, I got everything Ellen told me. She said go ahead and call her if you have any questions about getting him cleaned up.” He turned around and squatted down again. “Nice to meet you, Castiel!” He ruffed the angel's hair, and then left, accompanied by much hellhound fuss and bother.

“Come on, it's late, and we gotta get you cleaned up for bed, Castiel,” said Bobby, extending a hand. 

“Is Cas-alel gonna get a bath? Does he want my rubber duckie?” asked Sam.

“He doesn't need a rubber duck! He's an angel!” Dean told his little brother.

“Why wouldn't a angel need a rubber duckie?”

They somehow got up to the big bathroom on the second floor, and after making sure the dogs were outside (which didn't please the hellhounds), and all of Sammy's bath toys were inside (the kid had a pile – where he he even gotten half of them?) Bobby filled up the deep clawfoot tub with some nice, warm soapy water and took out the supplies Ellen had sent. They took off the filthy rags Castiel had been wearing and helped him get into the tub while Sam set to explicating about all of his bath toys for the angel. “And this is Mr. Duckie. He's a duckie!”

“Well, duh, he's a duckie,” sighed Dean.

Bobby got his sleeves all rolled up while Dean showed a somewhat bemused Castiel how to use a washcloth and soap on his face and body. “Well, what do you know, there is a kid under all that dirt!” Bobby said approvingly. Though he wasn't too pleased to see ribs and shoulder blades – the kid was half starved. The water in the tub turned dark by the time they were done, but Cas was smiling and his wings were sloshing around in the tub, so Bobby considered it a small victory when they helped the kid back out and wrapped some towels around him. 

Bobby had Dean run and get some of his PJ bottoms – they were a little big around the waist, but the length was about right. “Now, we're gonna have to spend some time on his wings. You think you can help me out here, Dean? You need to be careful, and not hurt him.”

“Sure thing, Unka Bobby! We'll get you all cleaned up, Cas!” The angel looked tentative about this, and stuck out a wing halfway. 

Bobby reached over and very gently opened up the wing. Dean, watching closely, did the same on the other side. And then he dipped a rag into a bucket filled with some diluted chemicals, and carefully stroked the feathers. Dean, with his brother hovering over his shoulder, repeated the gesture.

“Ewww!” said Dean, after working quietly a while. “There's bugs in here!”

“Ewww!” repeated Sam. 

“Yep, that's what we're gonna kill with this stuff,” said Bobby. “Remember when the Cerberus and Orthrus got fleas last spring?”

“Ewww!” chorused both of the boys. 

“Yewww?” said Castiel, who was frowning at his own wings now. It went well for a while, but then they started getting to parts that were irritated, where the feathers were ratty or had fallen out. There were patches of inflamed red skin, and even a little blood. Bobby felt the angel flinch beneath his hands, and his heart broke a little when he looked up to see tears were now dribbling down Castiel's face. “Aw, are we hurtin' you, kiddo?” he asked. He paused for a moment. He grabbed down a tissue, wiped Castiel's face, and then bunched it over his nose. “Blow!” he said. Two blue eyes looked questioning, but Dean mimed sneezing, so Cas got the message and honked into the tissue.

“We'll be done soon, son, but it's important we get these wings treated tonight, so you can start healin' up.” Cas stared at him with pleading eyes. It was almost too much to take.

“Hey, our mom would sing to us sometimes, maybe we'll do that and he'll feel better!” said Dean. And then without waiting, he began to bellow, “Hey JUDE, don't make it BAD, take a SAD SONG, an' make it BETTER!” Bobby started to grin, and Sammy soon joined in with, “Blah blah blah, hey Judy!” 

“It's JUDE, not JUDY!”

“Jude's not a name!”

“Yes it is.”

The angel was blinking between the two, but seemed a lot less distressed. “Boys,” said Bobby, who took up the washcloth again, “You keep singin', I think he likes it.” So the boys went back to belting out off-key Beatles hits, and soon they had finished. The bathroom was a mess, with water and mud and scruffy feathers all over the floor, but the kid looked much better. Not a kid, an _angel_ , Bobby reminded himself.

“Well, it's pretty late, let's get you boys and the angel all bedded down now.”

“Awww!” moaned Sam through a very big yawn. 

“But it's summer! We don't even have school tomorrow,” Dean insisted.

“You heard me.” Bobby took Cas by the hand and led him out of the bathroom. The dogs were overjoyed, sniffing at him and veritably dancing around as they walked downstairs. “We got a guest bedroom down in the basement, I think you'll be pretty cosy down there,” Bobby told Cas as he yanked open the basement door.

The shriek was piercing. Bobby put his hands to his ears, and a couple of little china pieces set on the hallway shelf literally shattered. Castiel had collapsed onto the floor, wrapping his wings around him, his eyes wide as dinner plates, where he shivered in abject terror.

“Don't think he likes the basement,” said Dean, who despite his tender age, was already proving to be a master of the understatement.

“Whoa!” said Sam.

Bobby poked at his ear with a finger, and then crouched down to Castiel's eye level, feeling his knees pop in protest. “All right. No basement. You OK with that Mr. Angel?” He reached over two fingers and swung the door shut, just to illustrate his point. Castiel seemed to relax somewhat. “Maybe we can set you up on the couch for the night?”

“He can sleep in my room, Unka Bobby!” said Dean. “We got the cot, remember? We'll pull it out and put blankets on it and I can show him my toys.”

“You all right with that, kiddo?” But Dean was already pulling on Cas's arm, leading him upstairs. 

“But I want Cas-allel in my room!” Sammy protested, padding after them.

“You could get him tomorrow night!” said Dean. 

Bobby didn't bother to tell them there wouldn't be a tomorrow night. “What if we let Cerberus and Orthrus bunk with you tonight, Sam?” he asked.

“Yeah, OK,” said Sam, who yawned again and sort of tottered towards his room. “C'mon doggies!” 

“Just not-” Bobby started. But he heard thumps from Sam's room. “-on the bed,” he concluded, but both of the enormous hellhounds had already hopped up and made themselves at home alongside Sam, Cerberus with his damned head on the pillow. Bobby sighed and shut Sam's door, shaking his head, and made his way back down the hallway to the linen closet, where Dean was now yanking down what seemed to be every single sheet, blanket, quilt and pillow and piling them into Castiel's arms. 

“I think that's enough there, Dean,” said Bobby. “Let me help you get the cot out.”

“You'll like my room!” Dean was enthusing. “I got cool stuff and posters and we could play cowboys and maybe watch a monster movie and we got a unicorn out back-”

“They've met,” said Bobby, pulling the cot out of Dean's closet and getting it unfolded.

“And look this is my kraken!” Dean added, holding up a fishbowl. “He's still kinda little, but he'll be king of the sea!” The little creature had squiggled up to the top, and extended a curious tentacle towards Cas, who stuck out a finger. The tiny kraken crawled up onto his hand.

“And these are my dragonflies,” said Dean, holding up a terrarium. The winged insects buzzed around and spat sparks at one another. “Probably not good to have 'em out, they set off the smoke alarm.”

Bobby finished setting up the cot, and tried to dissuade Dean from piling it up with all the linens he'd raided from the closet. “What do you think, Cas?” asked Dean, after he also piled his Iron Man pillow on the bunk, like the cherry on top of a sundae of blankets. 

Cas tilted his head and blinked.

“Does he not get it?” Dean stage-whispered to Bobby. 

“Welp, he might not have had a bed before,” Bobby agreed. “Wasn't exactly something like that where he was stayin'.” He shuddered as he remembered the dark basement, and the filthy cell.

Dean was already bouncing on his own bed. “See? This is how guys sleep!”

Cas continued looking bemused for a moment, and then hopped up on the cot, making sure to bounce exactly as Dean did. Bobby tensed, but fortunately, Cas was small and light enough not to cause the little bed to topple over.

Dean whipped up the covers and pulled them under his chin, so Cas imitated the gesture as exactly as he could, thus upsetting a couple of extra quilts Dean had added. Dean then crashed his head down to the pillow, and Cas did the same.

“G'night, Cas!” called Dean.

Cas paused. “Gah nite?” he said.

“Good night t' both of you. Sleep tight!” said Bobby. He paused and turned out the light, and then left the door open a crack, mindful that Cas might be afraid of the dark.

Bobby shambled down the stairs to the kitchen, and, grabbing an oven mitt, finally liberated his dinner from the oven. Dean had cooked one of the casseroles Bobby had pre-assembled and frozen for them. It was quite decent, though Bobby had to admit he probably would have eaten a dragon haunch by then, he was so tired and hungry after a long day.

It was just when he got settled down at the table that the phone rang. Heaving a sigh, he grabbed the kitchen extension and put it to his ear, balancing it on his shoulder while he opened a beer and set to his dinner.

_“You got him settled in?”_

“He's fine for the night, Ellen,” said Bobby.

_“Did you get the bag I sent.”_

Bobby chuckled and forked a lump of tuna surprise into his mouth. “Yeah, Rufus managed to find my house. Claimed he'd do some readin' about angels for us.”

The sound of something barking came over the phone. _“I don't know much about them. I think they're the kind of thing you only see in the big city clinics. But I've got a line on some experts.”_

“Well, that's good-”

_“You can drive him over on Wednesday, and they'll take a look.”_

“Wait, I can drive him over?”

_“And much appreciated, Bobby. We're really overwhelmed here. I've already had to call in some favors.”_

Bobby grabbed the phone. “Ellen, you do remember I have what you call a job? Policin' this area? And taking care of two boys.”

_“Well, you're taking care of three for a week or so.”_

“I signed up for a night, Ellen! One night.”

_“Like the unicorn?”_

Bobby set his fork down and scowled. “Don't bring Amalthea into this.”

 _“Thanks again, Bobby. Really.”_ Bobby heard a shriek over the line. _“Oops, sounds like I'm needed. Talk to you later.”_ And then the line went dead.

“Damn blasted woman,” grumbled Bobby, reaching over to set down the receiver. He set to reading his Louis L'Amour paperback and finishing his dinner, but was distracted by a sloshing sound coming from the sink. 

“Oh, you again,” he said. He got up and set his plate in the sink, and picked up the interloper who had some tentacles twisted around the faucet and was helping himself to a drink. “You're not supposed to be out of your bowl, you know that!” The tiny kraken snorted. “Don't give me that. You ain't king of the sea just yet. Now off to bed with you!” Bobby set the little mollusc up on his shoulder and headed up for his bedroom, stopping first to check on the kids. Sammy and the hellhounds were all three sawing wood. Dean was totally conked out on his bed too, but Bobby couldn't see Cas anywhere. He set the kraken down in his bowl and squinted in the darkness at the cot. And then he bent down: there was Cas, curled up underneath, his wings and several blankets all wrapped up around him. “Well, I'll be,” Bobby muttered. “We got us a cave angel. 

He pulled the door closed, leaving it opened just a crack, and wearily trundled off to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we play some kick the can. It's been brought to my attention that not everyone is familiar with this game any more, which is a pity. It's sort of a combo of hide and seek and tag. Anyway, hope it's self-explanatory.

Bobby awoke to the sunlight streaming between his window curtains, and the sounds of kids giggling and dogs barking madly. He blinked a tired eye at the alarm clock, and then, tugging on a bathrobe and rubbing his eyes, made his way down to see what all the fuss and bother was about.

“He likes Lucky Charms, Unka Bobby!” Sam shouted at him. The “him” in question being Cas, who was seated at the kitchen table in front of a bowl of said cereal. “They're magically delicious!” Sam told Cas, as he poured a bit more milk into the angel's bowl, and the both of them watched raptly as this made the marshmallows rise up and dance around in the air.

The sand cat, Margarita, batted a curious paw at the dancing marshmallows. Bobby grabbed her and deposited her on the floor. “You! Not on the kitchen table. We're civilized people here.”

“It's just a dumb old spell,” huffed Dean, who was hunched over a fry pan. “He'll like my monster pancakes better.”

“Think you made enough pancakes for everyone?” Bobby inquired, as the stack of breakfast food beside Dean somewhat resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. 

Dean had found some plastic molds, and was making them in the shapes of gorgons and minotaurs. It was actually pretty cool, Bobby had to admit. He figured the boy must have spent some time at the stovetop, and he had the hellhounds running around underfoot, snapping up the rejected pancakes.

There was a knock at the door, and the stupid dogs went batty once again. “Shut the hell up!” Bobby muttered. It wasn't bound to do much good: hellhounds were stubborn as all get out. He yanked it open a crack, and then went ahead and opened all the way when he saw who was outside: it was his deputy, Jody Mills, and she had arms filled with shopping bags.

“Whoa. It ain't even my birthday,” said Bobby, taking the packages from her.

“Heard from Ellen that you're taking a personal day.”

“Well, that's Ellen for ya.”

“Wanted to check up on the little one,” she said, inviting herself on in. “And how are you today, kiddo?” she asked Cas, who regarded her with curious eyes.

“He's Castiel. We've established that much.” Bobby set the bags down on the couch rummaged inside. He pulled some kid-sized clothes and held them up. 

“For Castiel. I think he's about the right size for them.” Jody ruffed Cas's hair, and he beat his wings, which was evidently good. 

“Want some monster pancakes, Jody?” offered Dean. He had just staggered over to the kitchen table, toting a towering platter of food.

“Some other time, Dean. I can't stay,” she told them, eyeing Bobby. “Some of us gotta work for a living!” She smiled and made to leave.

“Jody,” Bobby whispered, stopping her at the door, “are these Owen's?” Owen had been Jody's boy. He'd passed in the springtime, two years back, of an illness all the magic in the town couldn't cure. Jody had taken it really hard: Owen was her only child.

For just a second or two, a painful look came over Jody's face, but then she steeled herself and took a breath. “Yeah. They weren't doing me any good, sitting there in a closet.”

“Are you sure?” 

She nodded. “I'm sure. Poor kid doesn't have anything. He doesn't even have-” She cut herself off, and Bobby nodded, thinking of the dark basement, the terrible cell, and the dead angel, sprawled on the floor, curled around her son.

“Well, we're sure grateful.”

Jody gave a small smile and departed.

Bobby sighed. “You kids finish up here,” he told the assembled crowd. Well, probably leaving out the dogs, since they didn't listen anyway. “We gotta drive into town today. Ellen made Castiel here an appointment to see some hifalutin' angel experts.”

“We're gonna ride with you, right?” asked Dean, who was in the process of adding what _might_ be termed too much syrup to his monster pancakes. “This'll be great, Cas! We can get ice cream!”

“Now, I don't remember promisin' anything like that,” said Bobby, who scowled and grabbed the Mrs. Butterworth's before Dean's plate could become a veritable Lake Eerie of maple-flavored goo. 

“We _gotta_ get ice cream!” wailed Sam, who sputtered out colorful Lucky Charms dancing marshmallow crumbs. Bobby noticed that the things still danced, despite being partially digested. 

“We'll see about that,” said Bobby. “But we gotta get some word from folks on what we need to be feedin' Cas. I don't know if angels oughta be eatin' cereal and monster pancakes.”

“Why not?” reasoned Dean. “It's good enough for us.”

“He likes chocolate and ice cream and jelly beans!” said Sam.

“That so? You entirely sure _you're_ not the one who likes chocolate and ice cream and jelly beans, Sam Winchester?” asked Bobby. 

Sammy grinned a dancing marshmallow grin.

“Come on, let's get you washed up and ready.” Bobby held out a hand and Sam obediently plonked his cereal dish in the sink and walked along towards the bathroom. “Now, Dean, you keep that angel's wings out of the syrup! We just cleaned 'em last night!”

“Yes, Unka Bobby,” muttered Dean, who promptly ignored the advice and began pouring rivers of maple syrup all over Cas's pancakes.

 

It took a bit of time to get out of the house, what with getting syrup out of the angel feathers (Bobby found dishwashing soap worked all right) and convincing the damned dogs that no, they couldn't go along (try and convince them to go to the vet, now that was a different matter).

And then there was a delay where Sam and Dean had to teach Cas to properly call “shotgun” before they all mounted Bobby's old sedan. Cas had no trouble learning the new word (he was like a magpie, that kid) but seemed a bit uncertain regarding the singular honor of riding in the front seat. In the end, it was Dean up front, as usual, and Sam and Cas in the back seat, Cas looking very different now that he was all cleaned up and wearing a new set of clothing, a mix of the donations from Jody and a couple of items from Dean. Bobby had cut some holes in the back of and old, stretchy sweatshirt, and that seemed to work for the wings, which were pretty flexible. That was one of the questions Bobby had: how to care for the wings? They looked much better cleaned up, but there were still bare patches and places with thin feathers. Would they grow back? Did angels molt? 

He actually had a whole yellow legal pad worth of questions he'd thought up, and he brought it along so Dean could write down some more stuff when he thought of it on the drive. He was going to write it all down, and then pass it on to whoever took responsibility for Cas next. Whoever or whatever that might be. Hey, maybe the kid had some relatives? Another good question.

“Dean, I got another one!” Bobby said. “Get the pad!”

“Idaho!” said Dean. They were all looking at car plates, trying to spot the out of state ones.

“Well, you're gonna see a lot of Idaho plates when we cross the border up ahead. Now get the pad.”

“Hidey-hoe!” said Sam.

“Eye-da-how?” said Castiel.

“Good, Cas!” said Dean. “Bobby, why doesn’t he talk much? He doesn't seem retarded!”

“Dean, don't use that word,” Bobby scolded.

“Is that another grown-up word?” Dean sighed as he grabbed the pad and pen out of the glove compartment.

“That's a _no one_ word!” said Bobby.

_“Ummmmm!”_ mocked Sam, using his special, “Dean's in trouble” noise.

“Ummm?” Cas repeated.

“That's actually a good question, though,” said Bobby. “We'll ask 'em if they speak English. I think he's been saying some Enochian, for one.”

“A-noky-what?”

“Enochian,” repeated Cas from the back seat, which caused Bobby and Dean to both glance around in back of them. 

“See? He's been speaking a different language than us.”

Sam cranked down his window, so Cas repeated the gesture, and literally gasped when he felt the breeze on his face. He immediately put his face up towards the window, like he had the night before.

“Cas! You be careful back there.”

“Care-full?”

“Careful!”

Dean burst into giggles. “Is he an angel or a hellhound?”

“Well, now, Dean, think of yourself, every day, living downstairs in a dark basement, in a little room, no windows.”

“No windows ever?” asked Sam. “Not even a little one?”

Bobby mulled it over for a minute. He didn't want to scare the kids with how bad it had been, because he didn't even like thinking about it too much. But they needed to hear a little bit about it. “No, not even a little one.”

“Was he in a cage, like how you found Amalthea?” asked Dean.

“Yes, son. He was in a cage.”

“You can't keep a _person_ in a cage!” Dean said, sounding deeply offended.

“All alone?” asked Sam, his voice grown very small.

Bobby checked the rear view mirror. He wasn't exactly certain how much of this Cas was cottoning on to. “There was another angel. But they didn't take very good care. So she got real sick.”

“We'll take good care of Cas, right?” said Dean. “Cas, don't worry, we'll take really good care of you, like Bobby took care of Amalthea and Cerberus and Orthrus and the kraken....”

“We'll give him vitamins!” piped up Sam.

“An' he can eat my vegetables!” added Dean.

“He'll be all right,” Bobby hedged, hoping it wouldn't be too much of a let-down when Cas inevitably left them for a real home. He told himself it would be for the better. He had no clue how to deal with angels – you could see that the pad was now just covered with scribblings about the scope of his ignorance. “These folks we're gonna visit are gonna have a lot of good ideas for him!” He looked up at the road signs ahead. “Here's the turn off. We'll be there soon.”

“And then ice cream!” squealed Sam from the back.

“Iceh creemah!” repeated Cas. Bobby rolled his eyes and wondered how hard it was to get fudge ripple off of feathers.

He found the address, and pulled into the parking lot outside a grim-looking structure. The façade sort of resembled something you might have seen in a World War II propaganda film – from the Nazi side, that is. Bobby realized that, for whatever reason, he really didn't care to go inside. He shook these feelings aside, however, deciding that he was just acting superstitious, and herded his crew into the building, where they found the Coeur d'Alene Research Institute for Enochian Studies in the directory, and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. Bobby was worried that Cas wouldn't like the elevator ride, being as it was a tiny little room, but the small angel didn't seem to mind. Sammy showed him how to press the button, as he was a button-pressing expert, Cas was utterly captivated when they ended up in a whole different space when the doors slid open. 

Bobby paused at the office doorway, staring at the nameplate. He looked over at Cas, who appeared a bit anxious as well, his wings held close to his body, as if he was nervous. But Bobby sucked in a breath and opened the door, and a real pretty redheaded receptionist looked up at them and said, “Welcome! You must be the people who called?” and Bobby told himself he was being an idiot.

She got them sat down, and even found a couple of coloring books for the boys while they waited. She then went back to applying a highlighting pen to a thick textbook. 

Before long a tall woman dressed in a suit strode into the waiting room. “Mr. Singer? Please come in.” Instructing Dean to watch over Sammy, Bobby took Cas's hand and followed her into her office. His anxiety came rushing right back. Something didn't seem right in there. It was way too sterile for one: everything seemed to be some shade of white. And there was something sitting in the corner that looked a whole lot like an old fashioned dentist's chair. Bobby cringed.

She seated herself behind the desk and fussed with some papers. “Hello, Mr. Singer. Please, have a seat. I am Naomi.” She added a smile. “I need to ask a few intake questions.” She folded her hands and stared at Cas with a bland expression. Cas backed away from her while Bobby took a seat. “How long have you been in possession of this celestial being?”

“Well, he ain't exactly my _possession_ ,” Bobby demurred. 

Naomi frowned. “You don't own the subject?”

“ _Castiel_ is the boy's name, and no, I don’t ‘own’ him. I'm sheriff down in Salmon County, just over the border, and we had a collector. This boy was-”

“If I might, he's not a child. He is in fact an _angel_ ,” said Naomi with a stern smile.

Bobby cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “This _boy_ was found in the house. He didn't have anyone, so I'm providin' some temporary shelter, 'til we can get him settled in.” 

There was suddenly a hungry look behind Naomi’s eyes. “So you are still trying to determine his eventual custody?”

“Well, yeah, I’d say it’s yet to be determined.”

“May I recommend our placement service? Here at the Institute, we conduct many advanced studies of this species. Let me get you some pamphlets – please stay away from there!” she called sharply. Bobby looked over his shoulder. Cas had sidled over to the dentist’s chair, and had picked up a piece of equipment that looked a whole lot like a dental drill. Cas stared at her, gripping the object, his wings raised up in accusation.

“Uh, that where you conduct your … studies?” Bobby asked, gesturing towards the chair. To be honest, just about all the equipment sitting on the tray beside the seat looked a little pointy for his tastes. And he didn’t like the look of the wrist restraints. 

A side door opened, and a small, rumpled man burst into the office. “Well, hello there!” he called to Cas, plucking the drill from his hands. “And what do we have here?” Cas scooted well back of him.

“I am conducting an intake interview, Metatron,” said Naomi, her smile beginning to twitch.

“Aw, look at you, slugger,” said Metatron, crouching down to look Cas in the eye. He moved to ruff up Cas’s hair, but Cas cringed away. 

“May I introduce you to Metatron? He is my … _partner_ ,” Naomi told Bobby, her lower jaw quivering.

Metatron straightened and grabbed a scrambled up Rubik’s cube down from the shelf, which he tossed to Cas. “Little winger from a collection, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s true,” said Bobby, though he balked at the slang term for angels. “As I was tellin’ your partner, we uncovered a house that had been warded up for some time….”

“Born in captivity?” asked Metatron.

“We're not entirely sure. But that’s a definitely possibility,” Bobby admitted.

“You haven’t interrogated him?” Metatron sniffed.

“He ain’t the most talkative sort. Course I didn’t expect him to be, given what he’s probably been through.”

Metatron rolled his eyes. “Then probably sub-normal. Can – you – tell – me – your – name?” he asked Cas, being certain to enunciate.

“Castiel,” said Cas, who was currently paying all of his attention to twisting the Rubik’s cube.

“He’s a whiz bang at imitating words and phrases,” Bobby told Metatron. “Why, just since last night-“

“A magpie then,” said Metatron, his voice having taken on a sorrowful cast. “Like birds. Very little up here,” he said, pointing to his head, “but they can feign intelligence with imitation.”

“We could examine the neural pathways-“ Naomi began.

“Not much use for it there,” sighed Metatron. “Won’t do him any good.”

“We can learn from his … _deformities_ ,” said Naomi.

Bobby had had enough of this. “Well, we’ll stop wastin’ your time then. Cas!” He grabbed Cas's arm and fled towards the door. 

“I would advise that you arrange his resettlement in some kind of institution for the simple-minded,” Metatron called after him. “Not much hope here.”

“I have pamphlets,” Naomi insisted, pursuing them into the waiting area.

“He’s an angel,” said Bobby. 

“He’s not some kind of holy messenger,” tutted Metatron. “That’s a simple folk misconception. It’s not like they were portrayed in the Bible!” 

_“And it was don aftirward, and Jhesu made iorney by citees and castelis, prechinge and euangelysinge þe rewme of God,”_ said Cas.

Metatron, Naomi, Bobby, and Sam and Dean plus the receptionist out in the waiting area, all stopped what they were doing and stared at Cas.

“What was that?” asked Bobby.

“Bible!” said Cas brightly.

Metatron peered at him for a long moment. “No, not bible. Babble!” he insisted.

Bobby reached down and grabbed the Rubik’s cube out of Cas’s hands. Each side was now a uniform color. He tossed it back to Metatron, who bobbled it. “Looks like we gotta be goin’. Come on, kids,” he said. He grabbed Sammy and Cas each by the hand and stormed out like demons were on his trail.

When they all got back to the ground level and out the door, and Bobby stood a moment, just outside the threshold, taking a breath. He felt like he’d just escaped something, though he wasn’t quite sure what.

“Ice cream now?” prodded Sam.

“Looks like.”

_“Excuse me!”_

Bobby turned around: it was the redheaded receptionist, hurrying after them. “Excuse me,” she said, pink-cheeked and out of breath. She was clutching a thick textbook to her chest. “My name is Anna. I couldn’t help overhearing your boy, Castiel?”

Cas looked up at her and smiled. Bobby paused, though he held tight to the boy’s hand. “Yes?”

“You know the bible, Castiel?” she asked, crouching down to be at eye level with him. “The bible?”

_“Twelue wiþ him; and summe wymmen þat weren heelid of wickide spiritis and syknessis,”_ he spouted.

“Sounds sorta familiar, but he sure as shootin’ didn’t get that from me!” said Bobby.

“I think he’s speaking Middle English,” she told them. 

“What?”

She held out her textbook, and showed Bobby a highlighted passage. “I hadn’t heard anyone actually speak it before, but I’ve read a bit of it. I’m a graduate student in biblical studies – this is just my part time job.”

“Well, I'll be,” said Bobby, scanning over the words. “But why did someone teach you the bible in Middle English?” he asked Cas, who sadly did not answer.

“I could give you the name of my advisor over at the University. He might know more,” Anna told them.

“I’d be real grateful for that,” Bobby told her. And so numbers were exchanged, and then ice cream was procured, and so the visit was declared a success.

 

A sheriff’s life is never dull. Some of the Campbell cousins took too much dream root and got into a dust-up in the dream space, and there were reports of some shifter teens loitering and playing their music too loud and leaving shedded skin all over the place, so he had to go into work the next day and catch up. He hadn’t gotten a lot of his questions about angel kids answered, unfortunately, but Cas appeared to be doing well enough on monster pancakes and Lucky Charms and ice cream and hamburgers, so he figured the kid would last another day. 

He left Dean in charge. After a big breakfast and brushing teeth and making beds and then showing Cas what comic books were, they set out on an expedition to the local branch library, because Sammy was a total nerd and liked books, and also a couple of Uncle Bobby’s cowboy novels were overdue again. (Maybe it was because Dean was reading them too, you never know.) They marched on down, and the librarian lady (her name was Miss Barnes, and she was real pretty) was glad to meet Castiel. So Dean went to the fiction section to find a couple of Westerns that would be appropriate for him and Uncle Bobby (lots of gun fights, and not too much kissing, that was icky), and Sammy took Cas off somewhere for a while.

When it was time to check stuff out, Dean had found a couple of good novels, so he whistled for Sam. His brother staggered over under what looked like a good solid ton of books! 

“Sammy, you’re a geek-o-matic!”

“Some of these are for Cas!” Sam explained, pushing them up onto the front desk. 

“ _The Dynamics of Flight Physics for Cee-less-ti-al Beings_ ,” Dean read. He opened it up. “This is nothing but numbers and stuff! It looks like math. You like this stuff, Cas?” The angel nodded sincerely. 

“You boys try to get these back before the due date this time, OK?” said Miss Barnes.

“We will, Miss Barnes!” Dean promised. And then she winked, and he felt his heart skip a beat. She distributed the books between the three boys, and gave Sam’s hair a ruff. 

“She likes me,” giggled Sam.

“She does not,” grumbled Dean, who was disinclined to share. “Hey, Cas!” he asked as they made their way home, “You ever played kick the can?”

When the angel shook his head, it became clear that it was time to organize a neighborhood-wide game, in order to formally introduce their new playmate to the Salmon County high society.

First off, Dean took charge of preparing lunch, as they were all powerful hungry by that time, given their many adventures. Of course he served only the best, so while Sam and Cas geeked out over their weird new books, Dean buttered up some bread and started the griddle warming up, and then produced a big stack of his world-famous grilled cheese sammiches, served hot, with barbecue potato chips and plenty of sugary soda. They brought TV trays into the living room, and, with Cas balancing his books and a pile of sammiches, Dean clicked around to find _Vampire’s Hospital_ , even though Sammy tended to kid him for watching it, and tended to wonder loudly how a hospital could only be opened at night. And also he claimed Dean had a crush on Dr. Nosferatu, which he totally did _not_ , even though he had really pretty blue eyes and lots of dark hair.

“Nos-fer-a-tu,” said Cas, staring inquisitively at the TV screen.

“Yeah, that’s Doc Nosferatu! Hey, maybe you had a vampire where you were living?” said Dean.

“I bet his vampire didn’t look like _that_ ,” Sam told Dean. 

“How do you know?”

“’Cause vampires look normal like you and me, and they can play out in the sun, and they don’t care about wooden stakes or silver crosses, and this show is dumb!”

“It’s a _good_ show,” Dean countered, while Cas chewed and stared at the screen.

After the adventures of the too-pretty-by-far undead doctors, a series of phone calls commenced, and they convened in the middle of a conveniently-located vacant lot, out behind the Harvelle property line and the Braeden’s back yard. It was a variety of neighborhood kids and an even wider variety of their pets, including Cerberus and Orthrus, who wouldn’t have let them go alone anyway.

A big kid wearing a cap strode up to Dean. He had a rather large black bat perched on his shoulder. “Why are you showin’ your face her, loser?” he demanded.

“Jerk!” shouted Dean, who got up in his face.

“Dumbass!”

“Idjit!”

Cas gathered his wings around himself, but Sam merely snickered. And then suddenly the two boys broke into grins and slapped each other on the back. “You survived summer camp, Benny?”

“Sure thing! Wanted to see your dumb face again.”

“Vamp camp,” sassed a little blonde girl, who had arrived with a small black terrier following behind her. The little dog sniffed at the hellhounds, gave a bark, and the hellhounds backed off.

“We learned some huntin’ with Beauregard here,” he said, indicating his bat, which was apparently a pet. “So it wasn’t all useless.”

Dean slung an arm around Benny's shoulder. “Cas, this here is Benny, and he’s a vampire.” He pointed to the blonde. “This is Joanna Beth Harvelle, she lives right near here.”

“I’m Jo!” the girl insisted. She grinned, revealing a mouth full of metal braces.

“That’s Charlie,” he said, pointing out a little redhead.

“And this is my dragon! He’s Dumbledore!” said Charlie.

Cas frowned and regarded the sleeping beast. It rolled over and emitted a loud snore. 

“Laziest dragon in Montana,” Dean stage-whispered to Cas. “And here’s Andy and Ansen, they’re twins, though they don’t look like it.”

“And they’re _both_ evil twins!” said Jo.

“And this is Cas,” said Dean, now slinging an arm over the angel’s shoulder. “He’s a real live angel! And he’s never played before, so we’re gonna have to teach him.”

“Do those work?” asked Andy, pointing at Cas’s wings. Cas raised them partway. “Whoa! Did you see that, Ansen?”

“Yeah, I saw that,” grumbled his twin, who was playing with something that looked sort of like an neon jellyfish suspended in the air. 

Cas couldn't have known this, of course, as he'd never seen a jellyfish, much less a neon one. He did crane his neck to get a better look.

“He looks like a big old bird when he does that!” said Benny. 

“Says the big old bat,” said Dean.

“Does he fly?” asked Charlie. “Dumbledore flies!”

“Naw, that overgrown lizard too damned lazy,” laughed Benny.

“He does too,” Charlie pouted. “He just needs … motivation! Come on, Dumbledore! Show them!” Bobby's big, dumb hellhounds were nosing at Dumbledore now. He yawned, letting out a puff of smoke and rolled over on his fat tummy.

Everyone but Charlie cracked up at that. “You wanna get started?” asked Andy.

“I’m s’posed get home before it gets dark,” said Charlie. 

“Who brang the can?” asked Dean.

Andy and Ansen had a big, rusty dented old bucket that they placed upside-down in the middle of the field. “Now, Cas,” Dean explained, “I'm gonna count off to a hundred. You all go run and hide, and when I'm done, I'll come find you. If I get you, you gotta go to jail, over where Dumbledore is sleeping....”

“He's just resting his eyes,” Charlie insisted, as Dumbledore snored.

“But if you get out and kick the can...” Dean gave it a good kick, just to demonstrate, “before I can tag ya, you set everybody free!”

“An' no goin' indivisible!” said Andy.

_“Invisible,”_ corrected Ansen.

“You think he got all that?” asked Benny, who was peering at Cas.

“I'll help him!” Sammy piped up. “I'll help him hide!”

“You sure, Sammy?” asked Dean. Sam was the worst at kick the can. He was inevitably first caught, since he'd end up talking to a dog or chasing a butterfly instead of hiding. Dean would usually get out and kick the can and free him though. So it wasn't clear how much Sam would help Cas, especially because Dean was playing “It,” but it seemed like a viable option to the kids.

Dean closed his eyes and began to count off. There was a thunder of footsteps, and much high-spirited giggling and hushing. Besides the respective houses, the lot was surrounded by a spread of woods on one side, and a pond on the other, so there were many possibilities for concealment. 

But Dean was an ace finder, so he was going to hunt down each and every one of them.

“Six – five – four – three – two – one – ready or not, here I come!” He strode confidently over towards the woods. He’d seen something out of the corner of his eye, and it spelled twins. He paused just at the edge, thinking he’d heard a crackling sound overhead. He peered upwards into the trees: had someone climbed up, thinking to elude him? He was quiet for a moment, but hearing no further crackling or giggling, decided to march onwards. Sometimes Jo decided to climb, but it took her forever to get on down again, and she always made a lot of noise. He walked through towards where he’d seen the movement. A tree had fallen many years past, making a hole in the canopy, and now a shaft of light fell into the wood. 

In the middle of the shaft there was what appeared to be a flickering light, like the remnants of some forest spirit. Dean approached the scintillations, as if hypnotized by them. Slowly, slowly….

“Andy, Ansen, gotcha!” he yelled, whirling around to tag the dumb twins, who always used the same old lame distraction.

“Aw,” grumbled Andy. “I told you it wouldn’t work, Ansen!”

“Off to jail!” Dean gloated as they sulked and walked back towards the field. 

Dean followed them out of the woods, pausing just on the edge to listen for his tree-climber, but there was no rustling. Instead, he walked over towards the edge of the pond, peering into the deep dark waters. He stood a while at the bank, calmly scanning the water’s surface.

Ah, there it was.

Dean ran down the bank, knelt down, and jammed a hand down into the water just where he’d seen some bubbles break the water.

Benny came sputtering to the surface. “Dangit! How do you always find me?”

Dean laughed. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, of course, and Benny always thought he could use it. “Go to jail!” he told his damp friend.

Dean continued around the periphery, seeking out hidey-holes and breaking through illusions and generally kicking ass. 

Jo was one of the last to go. She had gone old school this time and hid herself in the dumpster behind the Braeden’s, crouching among the garbage bags, holding her nose from the stink. Dean paused after he “arrested” her to help her flip a banana peel out of her hair. “Your mom's gonna kill ya,” he laughed.

“I almost won! I would’ve won!” she protested. They walked back towards the field together, by the edge of the woods. 

“I thought that was you up there!” said Dean, pointing upwards to the trees.

“What is that?”

Dean paused to squint up through the sun. Someone was casting a big shadow. It was weird, like a really big bat or bird or something.

The branches crinkled.

“Wait!” said Dean.

And then he took off running towards the middle of the field. 

There was another crackle, and then a whoosh, and then the sound of Sam screaming.

“Whee!” yelled Sammy, as the big old bird that was not a bird at all swooped over Dean, whooshed past, and let his little brother hang down, legs kicking. “Whee!” And then they were at the bucket, and little Sammy kicked with all his might. The old bucket went flying to hoots and giggles, and now everybody gathered in jail was yelling and the dogs were barking and even Dumbledore woke the heck up to see what was going on.

Dean and Jo ran up, panting and out of breath, just as Cas brought Sam down to earth. “I won Dean!” Sammy screamed. “I kicked the can – did you see me! I won! I won!”

“You sure did, Sammy,” said Dean, but he was looking at Cas. The angel was bright-eyed, his somewhat ratty but broad dark wings stretched out in triumph. “You sure did.”

“Whoa!” said Benny. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Did you?” Dean asked Sam.

“We knew!” Sam told Dean. “We looked in Cas’s books about angels, and we figgered it out!”

Dean whistled low. 

“Charlene! Charlene Bradbury!” came a voice.

“I gotta get home now,” said Charlie. “Come on, Dumbledore.” The kids began to scatter.

“No flyin’ next time!” called Andy.

“Why not, it's fair!” Jo yelled back at him.

Benny paused and extended a hand towards Cas. Cas peered at the hand for a while, until Dean bumped him in the shoulder. Cas held out a hand, and Benny shook it. “Cas, you’re all right!” said Benny. And then, whistling for his bat, he turned and ran off towards home.

 

They were in the middle of getting dinner ready when there was a knock at the door. Bobby figured it must be either Ellen or maybe Rufus with some more stuff, so he yelled, “Sammy! Get the door son. And ask ‘em if they’d like to sit down.”

He heard the door open, and Sam say, “Hello. You want some dinner?”

“That would be really nice, actually,” said an unfamiliar voice. Bobby grabbed a towel and ran out to the living room, where a man in a suit was standing, holding out a badge. 

“Hello there! Agent Henricksen, FBPI. Am I speaking to Sheriff Singer?” Bobby recognized the ID for the Federal Bureau of Paranormal Investigation, but he wondered what the heck someone all the way from Washington, DC would be doing up here in sleepy Salmon County.

“I invited him to dinner, like you said, Unka Bobby!” sang Sam.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m Sheriff Singer.”

“I have a couple of questions about a case I’m currently investigating. Sorry to intrude on your mealtime, but my Mamma taught me never to turn down a compliment or a dinner invitation.” He grinned at Sam.

“What case would this be?” asked Bobby, who already had an inkling.

“It's my understanding that your officers recently raided a property owned by a family by the name of Sinclair?”

Bobby turned to Sam. “Sam, you go set an extra place for Agent Henricksen.”

“All right Unka Bobby!” said Sam, scampering off towards the kitchen.

“Victor, by the way,” said Agent Henricksen, tucking his badge away. “Since we'll be dining and all.”

“Bobby,” said the same. Dean and Cas poked their heads into the room. 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Agent Henricksen, looking at Cas like he'd never seen an angel before. Bobby suddenly felt a lot less like a small town cousin.

“Dean. Castiel. This here is Agent Victor Henricksen of the FBPI, and he’s gonna chat with us a bit over dinner.”

“Of the FBPI?” Dean gasped as he and Cas ventured into the living room. “You’re a G-man?”

“Yep.”

“Like Elliot Ness?”

“Yep.”

“Whoa! He’s a G-man, Cas!” The angel nodded, although the boy appeared uncertain about the implications. 

“You boys help me get dinner finished, and we’ll all sit down,” said Bobby. As he and Dean and Cas puttered around in the kitchen, Agent Henricksen got a seat at the dining room table, and Sam provided entertainment by introducing the agent to every single one of his Space Monsters action figures. The agent listened closely, and peppered the boy with questions regarding each and every one.

“You're telling me the Bureau has an interest in the Sinclair case?” asked Bobby, while they were doling out pot roast and potatoes.

Agent Henricksen was drizzling gravy over his potatoes. “My agency was contacted by one of your officers – a Deputy Fitzgerald – regarding possible heirs to the Sinclair estate. As it happens, I’ve been working on the Cuthbert Sinclair case for a while now.”

“Hrm.” Bobby rolled the name around for a while. “Cuthbert Sinclair? Don’t ring a bell.” 

“Only son and heir of Phoenicia and Agamemnon Sinclair, the property owners. He was apparently disinherited some years back….”

“That much we reckoned,” said Bobby.

“The Bureau of Paranormal Investigation considers him our main suspect in a whole string of unsolved occult crimes, including illegal transportation of magical creatures across state lines, improper storage of alien life forms, and jay-walking over a devil’s trap.”

Bobby nodded. “Sounds like one shady character. But I gotta tell ya, there didn’t seem to be anyone much visiting house we raided. We managed to get Cas out and get him cleaned up, but most of the critters there, including the boy’s mom, weren’t so lucky.”

Victor perked up. “Castiel was living in the Sinclair house?”

“Don’t think the boy would be a source for you. He don’t talk much, and they kept him down in a basement room.” Bobby shuddered with the memory.

Agent Henricksen regarded Cas for a long moment. He pulled out his phone, flipped through some photos, and then slid it over to where Bobby could see it. “Let's start out simple, then. We believe this to be a photo of Sinclair.”

Bobby grabbed his reading glasses and squinted at the image on the phone, but it didn’t ring a bell. “Cas?” he said, holding out the phone. The angel leaned over, holding his wings close to his body, and peered into the phone. “You know this feller?”

The wings gave a beat. “Ma-ga-nus,” Cas told Bobby.

“Magnus?” asked Henricksen, his eyes going wide. “Is that what he said?”

“You knew this guy as _Magnus_ , Cas?” Bobby asked. 

Cas bit his lip and nodded solemnly.

Henricksen frowned and took back the phone from Bobby. “I’ll be damned. I’ve heard that alias thrown around, but we haven’t had any good information connecting them before now. Thank you, Cas. That was really important!”

Cas’s face lit up into a very sweet smile. “You’re a G-Man, Cas!” said Dean, gripping him on the shoulder, which caused Cas to positively beam. 

Victor tactfully steered the conversation away from Cuthbert Sinclair after that exchange, and after a lot of food and some ice cream, Bobby had the kids help clear the table, and then he and Victor retired to the porch to drink some cold ones and enjoy the sumer air and watch the kids tear around the yard with the dumb dogs.

“Hellhounds?” asked Victor.

“Yep,” said Bobby. “Another collector.”

“You're good with the kids.”

“None of 'em mine, in actuality. Dean and Sam – their father is a friend. Good man, maybe not so good as a father. And Cas is a stray.” He looked over at Victor, who was wearing a wistful expression. “You got kids?”

“Yeah. And a couple of angry ex-wives.”

Bobby laughed. And then grew reflective. “These kids, they saved me, in their way. I was married, too. We thought we'd have a big family. But my wife, she passed.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Ain't your fault. Anyway, it was just me here, rattling around alone in this big house. Then those kids showed up, and now it's kids and dogs and angels and even a damn unicorn. But it sure feels more like home.”

Victor sipped down some of his beer. “My Mamma always said that angels were watching over us. But up until this day, I had never in my life set eyes on a real one.”

“Even at the Bureau?” asked Bobby.

“Yep.”

Bobby watched Cas run around with the kids, his dark wings trailing out behind him. He seemed almost nothing like the shy, cowering creature they'd spotted in the dark basement. 

“I feel like, maybe, you've been blessed in some way, Bobby Singer.”

“You might be right. So, how can we help you?”

“I can stay a couple of days. If you could let me go through your files on the house, and maybe have someone take me through the location?”

“I'll get Garth on it. We gotta get out to the university tomorrow. Got some expert that's supposed to take a look at Cas, maybe get him to talk.”

Victor took on a wry smile. “Fitzgerald is it? He’s … a little unusual.”

Bobby chuckled. “Yeah, a little. But the boy’s heart is in the right place.” He watched the kids and dogs playing, and worried a little about their impending visit to the university, hoping they'd have better luck this time.


	3. Chapter 3

It was with some trepidation that Bobby set off on his second run into town within a week. This time they headed east, away from the mountains, onto the flat plains and towards the university.

Bobby was amused to see that although Cas had learned how to correctly call for the shotgun seat, Dean immediately accused him of “cheating.” This clearly upset the angel, until Dean explained how this was actually cheating of the _approved_ sort, and so the angel began the ride in the coveted passenger seat, peering curiously out the window and giving his dark wings an occasional flap of contentedness. Bobby found himself wondering how they were going to get a coat to fit him come the colder winter of fall, and then quickly reminded himself that the angel would be long gone by then: hopefully to a real nice home with folks who knew all about angel care and suchlike.

The drive went quickly, and soon they had mad their way through the town’s single traffic light and were headed for the campus. Bobby had to admit it was a lot less intimidating than the building where Naomi and Metatron conducted their business.

There weren’t a whole lot of students around, as it was summer break, but Dean reached up and snatched a Frisbee that had gone astray, and then a couple of kids ran over to “check out” Cas’s wings. A couple of the pretty girls told little Sam he was cute, which might have made Dean just a tad jealous. They got directions to the Linguistics building, and took their leave to cries of “You rock, angel dude!”

The arrived at the building, and were ushered upstairs to Dr. Shurley’s office by the no-nonsense departmental receptionist, who kindly offered to look after the kids while Bobby was in talking with the professor. “Now, if he don’t answer when you knock, you go ahead and walk right in. Tell them Missouri sent you!” she chided. So, once more, Bobby took Cas by the hand and marched him upstairs to meet with an expert.

Bobby paused by the door: it had the professor’s name, plus a whole alphabet soup of titles afterwards. He knocked and - as Missouri had warned - received no answer, so opened the door (it was unlocked) and poked his head inside.

The office was unbelievably cluttered, like an earthquake and then a tsunami had hit an antiquarian book shop. The blinds were shut, and the lights were off, so it was pretty dim in there. But he heard someone puttering around behind the old oak desk.

“Prof. Shurley?” asked Bobby.

“I’m not in,” came a voice.

“Missouri downstairs told us-“

“Office hours and Tuesday and Thursday after – _holy fucking shit!_ ” A bleary eyed-man stood up behind the desk, and stared, open-mouthed at Cas, who had also popped in the doorway. “What- what are you?”

“This is my boy, Castiel,” said Bobby. He came into the office, extending his hand. “I’m Sheriff Bobby Singer, Salmon County PD.”

“She told me she was 21!” said Prof. Shurley, who now seemed to be scanning the room for an easy escape route.

“Uh, _who_ did?”

“Uh, whoever. This isn’t about that?” asked the very rumpled man.

Bobby decided to let that one slide. “About what? I ain’t here on official business. I came about Cas.”

Prof. Shurley once again turned his eyes to the angel. “That’s real? It’s not a costume?”

“Nope. Real angel. Real wings and everything. We got your number from a student – Miss Milton?”

“Oh, Anna! But I’m not sure what I can do for you,” said Prof. Shurley. “I just do translations. I’m not a – whatcha call it? – priest or anything.”

“Cas,” said Bobby softly. “Tell him about the bible.”

Cas’s eyes lit up. _“Be not youre herte affraied, ne drede it. Ye bileuen in god, and bileue ye in me. In the hous of my fadir ben many dwellyngis: if ony thing lasse I hadde seid to you, for I go to make redi to you a place.”_

“That’s Middle English!” said Prof. Shurley. “Hey, cool!”

Cas flapped his wings, and suddenly Prof. Shurley was digging in one of the heavily laden bookshelves. “There’s only like a dozen copies of that bible. No fucking idea – uh, I mean, excuse me – no _darned_ idea where he would have got one.” He pulled out a volume, causing several books to come crashing to the floor. He ignored the damage, and, brushing an empty shot glass and bottle into a wastebasket, set the book up on his desk, pointing to the passage Cas had evidently been quoting. “See? That’s the Greek, the passage in Middle English, and the translation.”

“Is there anybody alive who still speaks this version of English?”

“Hell no. Uh, I mean, _heck_ no. Middle English had all but died out by the sixteenth century. You – if you wouldn’t mind – it would be interesting to record him speaking some more?”

“Well, tell you what. We can do that. We need a favor from you?”

“Anything!”

Some time later, Bobby and Cas descended the stairs, now laden with several pounds of borrowed textbooks on Medieval English grammar and vocabulary. He figured if nothing else, he could learn a few words and phrases, and maybe get Cas talking a bit more. 

Bobby was of a mind to get out of town, but was persuaded to stop by a local student dive, as Missouri had told the boys it made the best huckleberry milkshakes. They all ordered burgers, though Sammy ended up mostly subsisting on fries and his shake. Cas was a local celebrity once again, with a lot of the friendly students stopping by their booth to say hi. A couple of Japanese exchange students even insisted on having their picture with him. They called him “Tenshi-kun,” and gave all the boys some little character mascots for their trouble. 

If Cas’s head was turned by all of this, it wasn’t apparent from his behavior. He had grabbed onto one of the textbooks Chuck had loaned them (they were now on a first-name basis with the eccentric professor) and kept his nose in it any time he wasn’t being asked to pose for cell phone pictures. 

“I might come to this university some day!” Dean commented as they walked back to the car.

“You think so? Well, that’s a good ambition,” Bobby told him.

“Yeah. The girls are real pretty!”

Bobby threw his head back and hooted. “Dean Winchester, you’re one prize idjit.”

The parking lot was nearly deserted, so Dean convinced Bobby to let him pilot the car around (at very low speeds) so he could tell everybody he’d driven around “in town.” Cas filed into the back seat without even attempting to call for shotgun, still hunched over that textbook, which he continued to study as they started back. Sammy, for his part, with a full tummy and a full day, soon conked out, snoring softly. 

About halfway back, as the mountains were coming into view, Dean turned around and asked, “Hey, Cas, you wanna play license plates?”

 _“Fear not, for I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all people,”_ Cas enunciated.

Bobby nearly ran the car off the road. 

“What?” asked Dean, who had wriggled out of his seatbelt and was now on his knees, peering into the back seat.

_“For unto you this day is born, in the city of David, a savior, who is Christ the Lord.”_

Bobby pulled over and stopped the car. “Cas. You know what you’re sayin’, boy?”

Cas nodded, still looking in to the book. “Bible!”

“Did your Mamma teach you that? The bible, Cas? _Lulo?”_ Bobby prodded, though he worried that he was straying into dangerous territory.

Cas appeared to chew on this for a while. “Lvlo begat Cas.”

“All right. Yeah, your Mamma.”

“Lvlo – Mamma – spake unto Cas.”

“Your Mamma taught you,” said Bobby. But why would she teach him this strange old version? So the keepers wouldn’t catch wise?

“Cas spake unto Mamma,” Cas was continuing. “Mamma … did not … awaken. Mamma-“ The last was cut off by sniffles. 

“Oh, heck,” Bobby whispered. 

But Dean was up over the bench seat in a flash, squished in right next to Cas. “Cas, you OK? You all right?”

Cas wasn’t all right. Now the waterworks were coming. Bobby sat quietly and watched Dean pet his wings. “You’ll be all right. You’re OK, buddy. You’re OK!”

Sam chose this moment to come awake. “Cas?”

“Cas is sad!” Dean told him.

“It’s all right, Cas!” Sam told him immediately, snuggling in from Cas’s other side. Cas ended up draping a wing around both of them, and Bobby felt a tear come to his own eye.

“We’ll get you boys home,” Bobby said softly. “We’ve had a long day.”

“Blah blah blah, Hey Judy!” Sam suddenly belted out, and Bobby suddenly found himself torn between weeping and weeping with laughter.

“It’s na-na-na, Sammy,” Dean scolded, but he soon joined in. Bobby once again put the car in gear, and headed home to the sounds of ridiculously off-key Beatles hits. 

 

It was dark when the car finally pulled into the driveway to Bobby's house. All three kids had fallen asleep in the back seat, so, though his back protested, Bobby dug little Sammy out of the car and toted him inside while Dean and Cas stretched and yawned. What he saw when he looked around his front yard did not please him.

“Amalthea, how the hell did you get out again?”

The unicorn snorted, and continued chewing on the neighbor lady's daffodils. 

“I'm gonna get my ass tanned. You wait there, and I'll be back. Dumbass, no good excuse for a horse.”

“We could put her back, Bobby!” Dean shouted sleepily from the car.

“Thanks, kid!” Bobby shouted back. He shuffled Sam around in his arms to grab the key. The kid was still snoring, and he didn't want to wake him up. He got him settled in down on the couch, sleeping through the damn dogs making a commotion, and then went back outside to see how Dean was doing. Dean was good with her, but she could be stubborn as a damn mule when she decided she didn't want to do something. He was surprised to see that she had followed Cas on into the back yard, and then on into her stall.

Dean at the gate. “This was shut, Unka Bobby.”

“She must've hopped the fence again,” said Bobby, shaking his head. He considered once again putting in a taller fence, but the thing about unicorns, they did whatever the hell they wanted. He was surprised she'd never sneaked through the dog door in the back. Or unlocked the screen door! But he was puzzled as to why she'd bothered to get out at all if she just stayed close. Certainly the daffodils weren't that tasty.

“Cas says she saw somebody.”

Bobby blinked. “Cas says?”

“Well, he was talking to her.”

That took a minute to ponder. “Cas talks to unicorns?”

“Uh-huh!”

Well, this was definitely new information. “Let's take some time and go see if we can get anything else out of her then.” He and Dean walked around to the barn, where Cas was standing by Amalthea's stall, offering her some tasty carrots. “Cas, Dean says Amalthea saw someone nosing around. That right?”

Cas nodded. “And hark, there did appear before her, a man.”

“Yep,” said Dean. “She saw a guy.”

“And lo, dark were the warnings.”

“A shady guy!”

Bobby nodded. A translation of a translation of whatever the heck went on inside a unicorn's head was probably not optimal, but it was all he'd got. “She got any kinda description?”

“Can you ask her, Cas?”

Cas nodded and folded his wings in, closing his eyes. “He walked upon the earth, in the form of a man.”

“Sounds like he had two arms an' two legs.”

Not exactly enough to put out an APB, but at least it didn't sound like some supernatural critter. “Well, you have him thank her for keepin' watch. Doin' a better job than those damn dogs!”

Dean nodded to Cas, who, Bobby guessed, transmitted some variation of his statement to the unicorn. 

“For the dogs are low, but true of heart.”

“She says the dogs are a little dumb, but they mean well.”

“Yep.” Bobby had to agree with that one. “Well, let's let her get to sleep, and we need to hit the hay too. We all had a long day.”

Bobby and the boys headed inside. He noticed immediately that the message light on his phone was flashing, so he got the boys settled and turned to his messages. At the end, he carried little Sammy up to bed, and then looked in on Dean and Cas bedding down for the night. “Dean, I got a case that's pretty urgent, and I need to head in now. You boys keep the doors locked, and you phone me if you see or hear anything. Anything! You got that?”

“Yes, Unka Bobby!”

“All rightie. Sleep tight, boys.”

“G'night, Unka Bobby!” said Dean.

“Good night, Uncle Bobby!”

Bobby shut the door so it was just opened a crack, and then had to pause. He was Uncle Bobby to a real live angel now? That couldn't be a bad thing, right?

As he'd promised, he made sure the door was locked and a few protective wards were set, and then he headed off to the station. There was a young girl, Madison Monroe, who had jumped out in front of a bus. Fortunately, the driver had stopped in time, but everyone was concerned that she was under some kind of enchantment. Bobby suspected it was boy problems, so after he talked with her, he called up Jody to have a chat. It turned out it was problems with a fellow, of a sort. She's been dating a werewolf boy against her parents's wishes, and then ended up getting scratched or bit, and you know what happened the last full moon. 

They ended up waking up yet another member of the force, Deputy Fitzgerald, and he'd had a talk with her, and then they bundled her in the car with him to take her home and have a discussion with the parents about what to expect. Bobby was grateful to have Garth on his small force, as you didn't always have a chance to get a good mix of people working for you like this in a small town. 

Dawn was already breaking when Bobby finally headed home. He was relieved to find everybody safe and sound, and so, finally, wearily headed into his bed, and he didn't even mind when a couple of hellhounds decided they needed to bed down with him.

 

Bobby awoke to the enticing aroma of coffee. It was Saturday, so he hadn't bothered with the alarm clock, and the sun was already rising in the sky. He padded downstairs to find Sam at the kitchen table working on his Big Coloring Book of Signs and Sigils. “I'm learning 'Nochian!” he told Bobby proudly.

“Well, that's real nice. Where is everybody?”

“They've all gone outside to do Cas's wings!”

Bobby heard the dogs barking and headed out himself to find none other than Ellen Harvelle sitting in his front yard. She and Dean had a shopping bag open and buckets and a garden hose, and were cleaning up Cas's wings for him.

“Didn't know you'd be over, Ellen! You boys should've woke me up.”

“They told me how late you were out last night, Bobby Singer. There was no way were were gonna roust you.”

“It's a weekend you know.”

“And like you know, people who tend to critters don't have a weekend.” Ellen looked up from Cas's dark feathers and smiled.

“So how's our boy looking?” he asked. Cas was smiling widely, so he assumed the answer was a positive one. 

“He's doin' good, Unka Bobby!” said Dean. “And I'm helping.”

“Are you now?”

“He is looking very good,” said Ellen, holding out a wing. “Can you feel here? The bumps? It feels like he's growing in new feathers.” 

Bobby brushed his fingers along the reddened expanse of bare flesh on Cas's left wing. “Well I'll be!”

Ellen affectionately ruffed Cas's hair. “Figured I needed to come out personally to supervise once I heard this young sprout had been trying to fly.”

Uh-oh! “Flying?” asked Bobby. “When exactly was this?”

“Oh, we were playing kick the can and he flew out of a tree and it was cool,” Dean told him, meanwhile looking all casual as hell. The little shit!

“He climbed a tree?” asked Bobby, careful to keep his voice calm.

Dean was growing animated. “Yeah, him and Sammy, and then they flew out, and Sammy kicked the can! He won, Unka Bobby!”

“He flew with Sam? And you boys didn't think this was worth … relatin'?” said Bobby, visions of busted arms and broken necks now dancing before his eyes. Dean grinned and shrugged, though at least Castiel had the courtesy to look a little bit guilty. 

Ellen just shook her head. “I got it out of Jo. She was real excited.”

“For it was told unto us, by words of old,” Cas said.

“Yeah, that's right! We studied the book! Cas and Sammy got a big book on angel wings at the liberry.”

“Well, how about this: just for now, no more flyin' 'til we make sure his wings are healin' all right?”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Dean, as Cas gave his wings an experimental flap.

Ellen wiped her wet hands on her jeans and stood up. “Also came down here because I thought I'd tell you in person: I met your friend, Agent Henricksen the other day. He wanted us to hang on to some of the creatures we'd been tending to. So the long and the short of it is, we still don't have accommodations for Cas here.”

“That should be all right Ellen. He's pretty settled here. For now.”

“What's 'commodations?” asked Dean.

“Well, she means a place to take in Cas.”

Dean's eyes went wide. “You can't send him to the shelter! He belongs here!”

“Now, don't worry, son,” said Bobby. “He'll be just fine her for a while. But I don't know beans about raisin' an angel. He might need to go to somebody who can take care of him.”

“We can take care of him!” Dean insisted.

Sam, who had just wandered out, coloring book still in hand, saw that his brother was upset and inquired, “What's goin' on?”

“Now, Sammy-”

“Bobby's sendin' Cas away!” Dean wailed.

“Nooooo!” cried Sammy, who immediately attached himself to the angel, wailing as if it was the end of the world.

“Both of you!” said Bobby. “Settle down now! Cas ain't going anywhere for now. All right? Ain't that right, Ellen?”

Bobby could tell damned well that Ellen was struggling not to smile. “Seems to me you said the same thing about the dogs. And Amalthea. And a couple of other little boys, maybe.”

The dogs in question began to bark and run around like the fools they were when a newcomer came down the path.

“Hello again, Victor!” said Ellen.

“Victor,” said Bobby.

“Agent Nenrick!” shouted Sammy, who had recovered quite suddenly from his spasms over Cas. “I'm learnin' Nochian!” He proudly flourished his coloring book.

“Will you look at that?” marveled Victor, holding up the book to get a really good look. “Those are some pretty fancy sigils!”

“I was just telling the Sheriff that you're keeping us fully occupied at the shelter,” said Ellen.

“My sincere apologies, Ma'am,” said Victor. “I'll have to make up for it later. Maybe dinner some time?” Ellen smiled, but Bobby scowled. 

Ellen's cell phone sounded, and she excused herself to answer it. 

“I came here tonight to show you a picture, Bobby,” said Victor.

“You have a better photo of this Magnus character?” Bobby asked. Cas looked interested when he heard the term.

“Something else,” said Victor, as he held up the book he had been carrying. He flipped it open to a page marked with a sticky note. “When I called the house this morning, Dean told me that you folks found out Cas has been speaking Middle English.”

“Dean did, did he? Is there anything that goes on at this house that I'm privy to any more?” Dean was grinning.

“Anyway, I had a hunch, so I talked to that nice Miss Barnes at the library, and checked out a book.”

Bobby took the book and held it at arm's length. “Don't have my reading glasses,” he grumbled, staring at an image that appeared to be an old wood cut. “Well, that's a pretty girl. Looks familiar.” He mulled it over for a while. “Hold on. This is an angel gal, isn't it?”

Cas was suddenly right beside Bobby, his wings quivering. Hesitating, one tentative hand touched the page, stroking it. 

_“Lvlo,”_ he whispered.

Bobby crouched down beside him, ignoring his protesting knees. “That your Mamma, kiddo?”

Cas bit his lip, his eyes shining. He nodded.

“Her name's Anahita,” said Victor. He held out a hand, and Bobby returned the book to him. “Supposed to be an angel of good fortune. The last that's known of her, she was an advisor in the court of a line of kings of Asia Minor. But the last king in the line was defeated by Saracens, who were in turn conquered by a Norman army during the Crusades. The army was led by a knight named Saint-Clair. After that, nothing else is known of her.”

“Saint-Clair,” mused Bobby. “Sinclair?”

Victor gazed at the book and nodded. “One branch of the family emigrated from Scotland and came to the US some time in the late 18th century. They always kept to themselves, but it was known that they carried with them a rather extensive collection of magical objects and creatures.”

“And Cuthbert?”

“He appears to be last of his line. We're still curious to find out why he was apparently disinherited.”

Bobby was mulling over this one for a time. Ellen hung up her phone call and came back over. “I need to go. Looks like everything is under control here,” she said. “I left some more supplies for Cas in a bag on your counter.”

“Call from the shelter?” Bobby asked.

Ellen nodded. “We have some mugwumps. Rufus has tried everything, all the charms he knows, but he can't seem to get them to calm down.” 

“Cas could ask them!” said Dean.

Ellen and Victor both raised eyebrows at that. “What?” said Ellen.

“The boy talks to critters,” said Bobby, who was maddeningly proud of the feat. “He chatted with Amalthea last night!”

“Be damned,” said Victor.

“Oh, that's right. She said there was some kind of shady character lurking here yesterday when I was away. She leapt right over my fence to run 'em off.”

“Do you want me to make some calls?” asked Victor. “I could arrange for some people to watch your house.”

“Now, no need to panic. But I'll be keepin' an eye out.”

“Can we go with Ellen, Bobby?” asked Dean. Sam also looked pleading.

Bobby glanced at Ellen, who nodded. “Now, you don't cause any trouble, right?” Sam and Dean and Cas all nodded solemnly. “And I don't want you bringing back any more pixies! We got a full house.”

“We just wanna see the aminals!” said Sam.

 

The shelter was outside of town, inside a big old house some railroad guy or something had built. Dean had heard the story and kind of half listened. All he knew was it was cool as anything.

Ellen pulled up her SUV outside and was immediately called away, so she told the boys to go find Jo for the time being.

Jo was outside, playing with the little terrier she'd brought to play kick the can the other day. She grinned wide, braces glinting in the sun, when the boys came up to her. 

“You got a new dog, Jo?” asked Dean.

“He's s'posed to be a 'Gyptian Blue!” she bragged. Dean bent down to give him pets. He was about the size of a little mop, with fur so black it was almost blue. “A 'Gyptian Blue? Never heard of one.”

The dog barked at him, as if in protest. For such a little mop of fur, it had a surprisingly loud, low bark. Dean was glad, as he didn't fancy little yappy dogs in the slightest.

“Yeah, they were supposed to contact spirits and stuff. He's small so he can go after little poltergeists.”

“Cool!” said Dean. “Does he got a name?”

“I dunno,” said Jo. “Not yet. My mom says the naming is important. I don't want to pick a name he doesn't like, you know?”

“Can you ask him, Cas?” 

“Can he do that?” Jo asked, her eyes going wide.

“Show her! Like you talked to Amalthea!” Dean urged. 

Cas nodded and knelt down next to the dog, his wings held close, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. The little dog sat still and gazed up earnestly at the angel.

Cas opened his eyes. “He is Mr. MacTavish,” he said.

“Tavish!” said Sammy gleefully.

Jo knelt down beside Cas. “Mr. MacTavish?” she asked. The little dog hurled itself into her lap, tail pumping, obviously overjoyed to hear itself addressed. (It was, after all, a dog.) “Hey, he likes it!”

Dean was crouched down too. “Mr. MacTavish? Don't he have a first name too?”

Cas frowned again. The dog paused, and then barked at him.

“For lo, his preference is formality.”

“Well, I can see that,” said Dean. “All right,” he said, standing up. “So you're Mr. MacTavish.”

The dog leapt over to him and gave him a playful nip on the leg. 

“Is Bobby here?” asked Jo.

“No. Your mom brang us. Cas was gonna help Rufus with the mugwumps.”

“Well, then, let's go see him. He was cursing up a storm just a while back! That's why my Momma told us to go out and play.”

Dean chuckled, and Jo led the little party inside, though the door off the big, sunny back porch and into the cooler interior. This part near the back door used to be the kitchen, but now housed many bags of all kinds of animal feed, as well as stocks of magical herbs and flowers and suchlike. Mr. MacTavish ran alongside and around everybody's feet, and also charged off to the side to sniff at everything. “It's through where we got the dryads,” said Jo. 

“Can we see 'em, Jo?” Dean whispered. “I heard they're real pretty.”

“They're kinda shy. Maybe if we're real quiet?”

They turned off the main corridor and into a darkened room with branches from ash trees all laid out. Jo scooped up Mr. MacTavish and held him in her arms, and the four children stood there, as quietly as is possible for children.

Something whispered, and then another. Sammy was going to say, “Ooo,” but Dean shushed him. 

And then, all of a sudden, Cas had something on his shoulder. 

He blinked, cross-eyed, as she was a little too close for him to actually see. Everybody leaned closer, holding their breath.

And then there was another one. 

They looked a bit like teeny-tiny little glowing ladies. And they were both obviously staring at Cas's wings.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Hold up your wings so they can see!”

Cas obeyed, tentatively stretching out a wing.

The dryads whispered. They both hopped onto the top of the wing, small lights combing through the dark feathers.

And then disappeared.

“Dang,” said Dean. They were awfully pretty!

And then they were back, only even more of them! They carried some tender blades of grass and tiny flowers. They flew up to Cas's head, and while everyone watched, wove a crown on top of Cas's head.

“Cooooool,” said Dean. But then, to his shock, they were on his head, and Jo's, and Sammy's, and even Mr. MacTavish's, weaving little wreaths over their heads. 

And then, with a whisper, they were gone.

“Whoa,” said Dean.

All, including Mr. MacTavish, who was already gnawing on his crown, appeared to agree.

They left the dryads and continued down to another room, where Rufus Turner stood, glaring at a cage and cursing a blue streak.

“Oh, uh, I mean, _gosh darn it!_ ” said Rufus, who looked up to see the children.

“Are these the mugwumps?” asked Dean as the children ran over to see. The were strange little birds. You couldn't really see the wings (mugwumps were flightless) and they had sort of hairy feathers. But you could see a pair of huge legs and spindly beaks.

“They look like butts!” giggled Sammy, and everybody had to agree.

“They're acting like … butts!” glowered Rufus. “No matter what I do, no matter how big the cage, they all pile up like that.” It was true: they were all heaped together in the middle of the cage in a giant, wriggling pile, and all of them seemed to be trying to burrow deeper into the pile.

“Are they cold?”

“No, I've tried turning up the heat. I've tried everything! They're not supposed to be agitated like that.”

“Cas, ask them what's up!” said Dean.

“Can angels understand them?” asked Rufus.

Cas knelt on the floor next to the cage and concentrated. It took a while, and he made some funny expressions while he was talking. But finally he looked up and said, “For their place is always amidst, and they do part the sea in twain.”

“Oh,” said Dean. “I think they all wanna be in the middle.”

Rufus glared at the cage for a spell. “Oh, is that their problem? Stupid birds. Let's try some separate cages then. Maybe that'll calm them down.”

As it turned out, they were a little short on cages, therefore, a bit of improvisation was called for. So some of the mugwumps got cages, but others were sorted into butter dishes and tupperware and a wastebasket and a coffee cup. But as soon as they were separated, and could sit down right in the middle, they all calmed right down and finally dropped off to sleep, tucking little needle-like beaks under their wings.

“Thank you, Cas,” said Rufus, patting the young angel on the back. “That was great.”

“Cas is awesome!” said Dean, and Cas's cheeks turned pink.

“What do mugwumps do, anyway?” asked Sam, who was quickly getting bored of watching the snoozing little lumps.

“Good question,” said Rufus with a grin.

“You guys wanna go hunt some ghosts?” asked Jo.

Well, of course they did, who could resist something like that? Mr. MacTavish also wagged his tail in solidarity, so they went back out and decided to hunt around the old barn, since it seemed pretty darned spooky out there. 

It was a sunny day, and the meadow beyond smelled sweet. The old barns were tumbling down, and were no use any more for storing livestock, so at first they poked around, Mr. MacTavish's sensitive nose leading, half-heartedly seeking ghosts. But this very soon devolved into chasing one another while screaming or barking (depending on one's species), until Dean at last decided that this sorry state of affairs should be at least organized into some kind of proper game of tag, which then further led to a kind of hide and seek, as Sam soon realized that he couldn't outrun the bigger kids. 

Play became more quiet by the time Dean was tagged “it,” and the shadows were longer as the long summer day finally drew towards a close. He reflected, though he was not usually the reflective sort, that the grounds, at last, actually appeared what might be termed (by those of lesser courage perhaps) “spooky,” and wondered if they might once again marshall Mr. MacTavish for a round of ghost detection. 

He was heading around the darker side of what had been the main building, now enfolded in darkness, tall grasses swaying and stirring as a cool breeze swept in, bringing the night. There was a chirping in the distance, crickets taking up the call. Dean stopped and listened for any tell-tale sign, a soft sigh or a laugh, or something that could give away a person concealed nearby. 

He turned.

Had that been soft rustling? Was Sammy trying to hide himself in the waist-high grass? Dean squinted into the dimming light. He even took a step or two that way.

Something swept past him.

“Jo!” yelled Dean. “Jo! No turning invisible! That's the rule!” Well, it really wasn't a rule. It was a kick the can rule, true, though they hadn't clearly set it out this afternoon, Dean considered it inviolable. “Jo?” he asked.

It was at that moment that Sammy screamed.

Dean was running before he was even aware what he was doing, leaping over a fallen log, rushing to where Sam stood, beside an overturned cart, screaming, the dog barking and barking, and Jo was there too.

“Sammy!”

“They took him, Dean! They tooked Cas! Dean!” Sam sobbed, nearly hysterical.

Dean threw his arms around his brother, and stared as Sam held up a grubby hand.

Clutched in his hand, Cas's flower crown.

“Get your mom,” Dean shouted at Jo. “Now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to consider this the end of our little story. I have a timestamp I've been working on, but it happens a couple years later, when the boys are teenagers.

Sam looked even smaller, what with the coat all wrapped around him. He sat on the porch step, shivering, Mr. MacTavish the loyal terrier smushed against one side, Jo on the other. Evidently, they hadn't left his side since … _it_ had happened.

Bobby put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Will you get him back, Unka Bobby?” Sam whispered.

“We're headin’ out, right now,” said Bobby. 

“I'm sorry!” Tears were forming now.

“Not your fault boy. Now, don't you worry.” 

Ellen leaned over and gave him a kiss on top of his head and stroked his hair.

Bobby turned. “I wanna go,” said Dean, who was standing right there, feet planted solemn as you please. “I wanna go too.”

Bobby had to mull this one over. Of course Dean wanted to get his friend. It was only right. But what if the worst happened? What if it had already happened? What then? Could he put the boy through that?

“Cas is my friend! You gotta let me go!” Dean insisted.

Bobby made his decision. “You stay with me, hear? And you do what I tell you! No backtalk. Understood?”

Dean nodded. Bobby squeezed his shoulder, and then went over to where the small tracking party was waiting. 

Agent Henricksen was on his cell phone. “The copter will be here in 20 minutes,” he told Bobby. “They said to go ahead and get started so we don't lose any time.”

Bobby nodded. Every minute counted now. 

“Open the door,” said Bobby. Jody opened up the patrol car. The hellhounds leapt out, sniffing and panting. They got a nose in to suss up the folks in the crowd, and then padded over to Bobby, peering up with coal-red eyes at their master.

Bobby held out his hand. He was clutching the flower crown the Dryads had made for Cas. Even now, there were little twinkling lights visible in the dimness above the tall grass. They were out there, watching.

The hellhounds bent their large black heads over their master's hand, snuffling, getting in the scent.

“Cerberus. Orthrus. You find my boy,” Bobby whispered to them. “You go find Cas.”

Both dogs stepped back. They went suddenly still. All was quiet. There was no sound, nothing but the whispering of the wind.

Cerberus leaned his head back and unleashed an unearthly howl. There were a thousand doomed souls, all scratching to get out.

And then, like black shadows, the hellhounds were off, padding into the darkness.

The hunters rushed to follow. The men ran after the dogs, clutching weapons and flashlights. Branches crackled underfoot, the hounds sniffed and scented, and paws thrummed as they ran, relentless, over the uneven ground. Bobby huffed, trying to keep up, aware all the while of Dean running beside him, solemn and silent and relentless as the dogs. 

They were through the field and along a pathway beside a pond (Bobby praying the dogs wouldn't stop here) and then through a wood and another field.

And then the dogs came to a halt, sniffing and growling and running back and forth between Bobby and … _something_.

“Warded!” shouted Rufus.

“Bring 'em down!” Bobby ordered. “Now!”

“On it!” yelled Jody. Garth opened his backpack and a bunch of tupperware containers came tumbling out. Victor was on the phone again, and you could hear rotor blades overhead, and then a spotlight clicked on, scanning the field. 

Rufus had a bowl, and threw in some of this and some of that, and some of the other, and then there was some Latin to chant, so Bobby went to check that everyone had weapons locked and loaded, armed with silver bullets and salt rounds, prepared for whatever might be inside. The dogs were running around the perimeter, eyes burning fever-red. 

Finally, Bobby turned back to Dean. “You stay behind me, now. You hear that? Stay behind me.”

“Yes, Uncle Bobby,” said Dean.

Bobby nodded to Rufus.

Rufus threw the match. The stuff in the bowl lit up.

There was a bright flash.

And there, in the middle of the field, sat a tumble-down shack.

The hellhounds bayed, and then broke for the door, faster than any mortal could run. Rotten wood cracked as they busted through, tearing into the house, yowling.

Inside, screams, and a single gunshot.

“Go! Go! Go!” shouted Bobby. He turned to Dean. “Stay! You stay here!”

Dean grimaced, but nodded.

And then Bobby was running in, up the rotting porch steps, past the busted door. Orthus was standing over a bloody body, jaws running red, howling. A shotgun lay nearby, the dead man still clutching for it. 

Cerberus had backed another man up against the wall. He was flattened back, jibbering in fear.

“Where's the boy?” Bobby demanded, grabbing Cerberus's collar. “Where's the angel?”

“I didn't do it,” the man whimpered.

“If you harmed a feather on him, my dog will eat your damn heart!”

“No!”

“Found him, Bobby!” came Jody's voice from the next room.

Bobby rushed, heedless. There it was, a cage in the corner, and something that looked like a dark, feathery mop.

“Cas! I'm here boy! Cas!” Bobby was at the cage, gripping the bars. “Cas!”

Two blue eyes peeped out from between the wings.

“I got you kid,” Bobby whispered. “I got you.” He turned. “Open this damn cage! Now!”

Rufus had a bowl of charms, but Garth had brought some big, old bolt cutters, so Bobby went for the easy route, busted the lock, and grabbed the boy.

Cas was hugging him for dear life, arms and legs and wings wrapped around him. “Uncle Bobby,” he sobbed.

“I gotcha kid. I gotcha. We're bringing you home, OK? We'll bring you right home.”

He stumbled out of the shack, half-blinded by feathers wrapping around him, and ran into Dean, who managed to finally peel Cas off of him. 

The helicopter had landed not too far off, and there were now men wearing suits climbing out. There were cars around too, now, and someone had called the ambulance.

“You stay with him?” Bobby asked Dean.

“Yeah, Unka Bobby,” Dean assured him, as Cas now wrapped an arm and a wing around the boy. “We're good.”

“OK.” Somewhere in the back of Bobby's mind, he knew he was expected to do a lot of things right now. 

“Uncle Bobby?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“You'll call Sammy an' Jo? Tell them we found him?”

“Good idea!” Bobby extracted his cell phone from a pocket and tossed it over to Dean. “You call and give 'em the good news. And Cas can talk to them too!”

“We're gonna talk to Sammy and Jo!” Dean told Cas. 

Bobby sighed. _Focus_ , he told himself. The Bender family. Somehow, he'd known this from the moment he saw the dogs take off in this direction. Orthus had apparently killed the one son, but it looked like self-defense, so nobody was going to have much of a problem with it. The other son had been apprehended, and they found the no-account father hiding in the basement, along with a bunch of magical creatures they'd apparently been trading. Ellen had told Jody to let Rufus take charge, and they would somehow find room for them out at the shelter.

But the Bender girl had gotten out the back door during the raid, and lit off down the river. Agent Henricksen had said he'd send a team. “Good work with those dogs, Bobby. I need to have Uncle Sam buy me a hellhound.”

Bobby looked at Cerberus, who had suddenly turned from fearsome creature of the night, to puppy looking for ear scratches. “You hear that, boy? He don't think you're worthless,” Bobby said affectionately. “Well take you boys out for steaks, how about that?” Cerberus barked and lolled out his tongue and basically looked like the dumbest thing in all creation.

“You want me to have someone take your boys home?” Victor asked.

“You boys wanna talk to Cas first?”

Victor shook his head. “Yeah, but not tonight. Let the boy rest. I do wanna talk to those Bender assholes though. My gut tells me they're not working alone.”

“Yeah, I had the same thought,” Bobby confessed. 

“But Cas is now an important witness in a federal case, so I might want to have a couple of my guys watching your house.”

Bobby agreed to that. He made his way back to where Cas was sitting in back of the ambulance, Dean at his side, eagerly chatting away on the phone.

“You boys still runnin' up my phone bill?” Bobby asked.

“We're talking to Mr. MacTavish!” Dean enthused.

“Uh, who?”

“Jo's dog!” said Dean. Cas nodded eagerly. “He said he saw the Bender guy take Cas, and he's glad Orthrus ‘n Cerberus found him.”

Well, that probably wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened tonight. Not by a long shot. Bobby guessed he would have to ask Victor if a terrier could be a witness in a federal case. “I was gonna have Victor's men take you boys home. Would that be all right? They'll stay right there with you.”

“The G-men?” Dean sang. “Cas, we're gonna ride home with the G-men!” Bobby was quite certain the boy was going to die right then and there from sheer happiness. Bobby got the boys and the hellhounds packed into a car, and sent them off to pick up Sammy. Jo wanted to spend the night and be a G-man too, so Ellen volunteered to go along, which made Bobby fell a whole lot better about hanging back and doing his job. 

“He wants to talk,” said Victor, just as Bobby was watching the car depart.

“Which one?”

“Lee. The boy. The one your dog _didn't_ have for dinner. Though he had to change his pants first. I need to get me some of them hellhounds.”

“You sure you want me in there?” asked Bobby.

“The angel is no kin to you, correct? He's just staying at your home?”

Bobby had to consider this for a long moment. 

“Legally speaking, of course,” Victor added.

“He ain't blood, no.”

“Well then, I think you were just watching over an important government witness.”

Bobby nodded, but Victor put out a hand to restrain him. “Just, no killin' anybody. At least 'til after the interrogation?”

Bobby had to crack a small smile at that. He accompanied the FBPI agent back into the shack, where a couple of Bobby's deputies along with some FBPI agents stood around Lee Bender, who was handcuffed to a chair.

“Bobby! I warn't no part of this. I tol' em not t' do it!”

“We gotta start at the beginning here, Lee,” said Bobby. He and Victor both took seats opposite of Bender. They nodded, and everyone else left the room. “Now, you been advised about counsel?”

“You talkin' about a lawyer?” asked Bender. He spat on the floor. “I don't trust no fuckin’ lawyer. Keep 'em away.”

“Well, any time you wanna stop talkin'-”

“I want a deal! Like on the television.”

Victor smiled and tipped his chair back on the back legs. “You realize we already have you for hiding in a warded house? And there's some of these magical critters I highly suspect have been transported across state lines.”

“Federal crime, boy,” said Bobby, who guessed he was the good cop here. Despite wanting to lean forward and strangle the damn kid. “You and I both know, you don't fuck with the feds.” He inclined his head towards Victor, whose smile only widened.

“Bobby, you gotta believe me, man! I told 'em it warn't worth it!”

“A lot of money?”

Lee sadly let his head droop. “Not enough for this.”

Victor eyed Bobby and mouthed, _“Who?”_

“You had a buyer, Lee?” said Bobby, trying to keep his voice calm.

“He tol’ us he was rightful owner.”

Bobby and Victor exchanged a glance.

“The owners are dead, son.”

“No. He was cheated! Seemed real put out.”

“Got a name for us?”

Lee suddenly got quiet.

Victor stretched out his arms. “Not really sure why I'm wasting time here,” he said, and pretended to get up.

“My pa called him … Magnus.”

Victor mouthed, _“Yahtzee!”_

 

It was quiet when Bobby finally pulled into the driveway of his own house. He didn’t go inside first thing though: instead, he walked over to the car that was parked outside and waved. The agents inside, who were sipping coffee and nibbling on some pastry, waved back cheerfully. It was a man and a woman.

“You folks can come inside for a spell, if you want.”

“We’re fine out here, Sheriff Singer,” said the man. “Ellen brought us coffee and pie.”

“Yeah, I recognize my fine china,” said Bobby of the plastic plates. The agents laughed.

Bobby headed to his front door. He wasn’t cheerful about being under surveillance, but it was probably for the best right now. Ellen opened the door before he could get his key out.

He scanned the empty living room. “Don’t tell me you got ‘em in bed already?” he asked. After the excitement of the day, he had expected them all to still be up, bouncing around.

“Come and see,” laughed Ellen. They headed upstairs and then, as Ellen held a finger to her lips, pushed open the door to Dean’s room.

The door pushed into Cerberus, who was lying so his body blocked the way. Bobby grinned wide. Both Sammy and Jo were sprawled out in Dean’s bed, Jo’s little terrier snuggled between them. Margarita the sand cat was perched up on the headboard like a little sentry, and Orthus was spread across the end.

Cas was wrapped up in his nest on the floor, under his cot, and was gripping Dean inside his dark wings. 

Margarita opened one eye, regarded Bobby with some measure of suspicion, and then closed it again, giving her tail a switch.

Bobby smiled at Ellen. “Well, at least I know where everyone is.”

“You want some dinner?”

“You had time to put something together?” Bobby asked, following her down the stairs.

“I cannot tell a lie. Your neighbor lady came over with a casserole. Wasn’t too pleased to see _me_ here.”

Bobby chuckled as they reached the kitchen. There was lasagna still warming in the oven, so he helped himself. “Sorry that we’ve made more work for you at the shelter again. What with the creatures we found tonight and all.”

“We’ll find space for them,” Ellen assured him, pulling a couple of beers from the fridge and sitting down a across from Bobby. “There’s always room for one more.”

“Except maybe one more angel.”

“Looks to me like he’s found his home.”

Bobby’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Well,” he said. 

“Speaking of the boys, have you heard from their father lately?” 

It was a sore point, so Bobby usually trod carefully. “John Winchester? Not a in a dog’s age, to be honest.”

Ellen glowered and knocked back her beer. Her expression said everything. She watched Bobby eat for a while, and then apparently decided to tack to a less heated topic. “School’s coming.”

“Yep. We should go get supplies.”

“You thought about sending Cas?”

No, to be honest, Bobby hadn’t, but now the thought occurred to him. He was a smart kid, and it would be a way to get him out there with the others. “I wonder if they’d take an angel? For schoolin’ I mean.”

“I talked to Lisa, and she says they’d be fine.” Ellen’s neighbor, Lisa Braeden, was a schoolteacher, and had a boy, Ben, who was in the local system. 

“You already thought ahead.”

“I’m good at that.”

Bobby grinned. “What would I do without you, Ellen Harvelle.”

“You’d be up shit creek, Bobby Singer.” 

They smiled at one another.

 

“You need one with cowboys,” Dean explained. 

They’d gone to the drug store to pick up some school supplies: pens and pencil cases and pocket calculators and all the other little necessities. The boys were now having a donnybrook regarding the selection of Cas’s school notebook. 

“Monsters!” Sammy insisted. “Cas needs to have _monsters_.”

Dean huffed in annoyance. “The only awesome notebooks are the cowboy ones. Look! You need a guy with a big old hat.”

Cas squinted at the action hero in question. “Is it customary for western heroes to don a blanket?” he inquired.

“That’s a serape!” Dean fussed, as Bobby pretended to cough to keep from laughing out loud. “You tell him, Unka Bobby!”

“I think Cas oughta get the notebook he wants, don’t you think?”

“But he wants cowboys.”

Cas, who had been browsing quietly through the selection, proffered an example. “Would a notebook themed to cowboys versus zombies be acceptable?” he asked gravely.

Dean plucked it from his hands and, with Sam leaning over his shoulder, subjected the notebook to an intense scrutiny. “He looks pretty cool.”

“And the zombies are pretty gross!” said Sam approvingly.

“I think this one will be OK. Pretty good Cas.”

Cas smiled shyly, but his wings arched up, so you could tell he was happy. They’d just come from the department store, where the clerk had been real helpful about picking out items a growing angel could wear. Evidently the werewolves had this sort of issue, since they tended to get bigger and hairier every full moon.

The past weeks had been quite busy, given that Bobby and his small town police force were processing evidence both from the Sinclair house and now from the Benders. Some of Victor’s folks from the FBPI had come down to help out, though that in itself had caused a few frayed nerves, what with the city folks trying to mix with his close-knit team. One good thing, Ash, the wildly eccentric Bureau lab rat, had confirmed that the angel in the cage had indeed been Cas’s mom. Angel DNA, so Bobby understood, was a little bit bizarre (something about three strands – Bobby thought he probably should have listened better back in biology class). 

As for Cas himself, the boy had positively bloomed under Bobby’s watch. His new feathers were pretty much grown in, and Dean had become an ace at preening him, so his dark wings were lustrous and healthy-looking. And he wasn’t so scary thin any more, though he was a bit fussier about his food than Dean (but so was nearly every other human being – that kid was a prime garbage gut). As far as any of the experts could tell him, Cas was probably more or less Dean’s age – a little advanced in some ways, and a little behind in some others – so they decided to enter him in Dean’s grade, so he’s have someone to help out. 

There had been a couple of sour notes along the way, of course. The worst, to Bobby’s mind was that they never had caught the Bender girl, despite a pair of the best agents from the Bureau tracking her. Both Victor and Bobby suspected she’d gotten help escaping. And that lead to the other problem, and Bobby’s biggest worry: they still hadn’t managed to locate Cuthbert Sinclair, or Magnus, or whatever the hell mystical alias he was going by. 

Victor had been back and forth between Salmon County and DC a few times, busy with his cases. He had confessed to Bobby that several folks on his team were convinced Magnus had made himself a deal or two with the demons. Very dangerous, and definitely a felony.

But Bobby tried to push that one out of his mind in order to enjoy the last fleeting days of summer with his boys. It seemed like he was stuck with all three now. Or maybe they were stuck with him? 

He smiled when Cas and Sammy had lit out right after dinner, intent on something that involved a lot of barking dogs. Dean, who'd been a little quiet during the meal, hung back, saying he would help with the dishes. Bobby waited him out, which was the best course with Dean: asking just made him stubborn. So it wasn't until the dishes were drying in the drain that Dean looked up at him, a real serious expression in his eyes, “Unka Bobby?”

“What is it, kid? You wanna go run the dogs with your brother and your angel?”

“I was wondering.... You know, my dad?”

Oh, here it came. “Know him well.”

“Has he called?”

Bobby didn't want to lie, and there was no easy way of breaking it, so he just let it out. “No. It's been a time, hasn't it?”

Dean bit his lip. 

“Well, go ahead. Out with it, boy. You can say what you think.”

“You think- You think he'd be proud of us, Bobby?”

Well, that wasn't what he expected. Bobby finished drying his hands on a towel, draped it over the bar on the oven, and then crouched down so he was at eye level with Dean. “Well, I tell you what. I don't think Sammy could ask for a better big brother than you. And look at Cas! After what he's been through, he's out there playing. And there's a lot of credit to you, takin' him under your wing, even if you don't have 'em and he does.” That got a little smile. “Seems like anybody would be proud to say you're their boy. And you don't forget that, Dean Winchester.”

The edge of Dean's mouth started to twitch. And then he more or less threw himself on Bobby, nearly knocking them both on their asses. But Bobby managed to hold on, at least until the tears stopped. He grabbed a Kleenex and wiped up Dean's eyes and made him blow his nose. “Thanks, Bobby,” Dean whispered.

“You gonna go out and play with the boys now?”

Dean nodded, and rushed out.

“John Fucking Winchester,” Bobby grumbled, and went to open a beer.

The first day of school was soon upon them. Poor Cas got so nervous beforehand he couldn't eat his breakfast. He was shaking like a leaf when it was time for them to go. Dean had him take Sammy by the hand, supposedly because his younger brother had a case of nerves, though Bobby didn't see hide nor hair of it. 

They returned home promptly at 3:30, breathless and excited, with tales of adventure. Bobby had swapped shifts with Jody just so he could be home to hear it. Sammy was in a class with Jo and the teacher had already had to separate them, but then they started tossing paper airplanes at each other and kind of got in trouble.

Cas was in Dean's class, and had gotten to sit beside Dean all day, at a desk, and people had marveled at his wings, and they were especially amazed when he could not only catch a ball in his wings (like Dean had showed him), but actually throw it too, so everybody wanted him for their team, and there had followed a rather lively debate over whether that was playing fair.

And Dean reported that Miss Braeden was _really_ pretty. 

“She is attractive, Dean. But she is not as attractive as you,” Cas had told him solemnly, causing Dean's face to flush a rather fulsome shade of crimson. Bobby tried to hide his smile. 

Bobby advised Sammy to try and not get another teacher to quit. He told Cas he figured he should probably stick to catching and throwing with his hands, like the other kids. And he told Dean that he'd better quit daydreaming about his pretty teacher lady and learn a thing or two, that's what school was for. They had some tasty hamburgers and barbecue potato chips, and ice cream for dessert with the dancing chocolate chips Sammy liked, and then retreated to do homework.

The phone, thankfully, waited until dinner was over and Bobby was washing the dishes to ring. He picked up the kitchen extension.

“We've found him!”

By now, Bobby knew the voice. “Magnus?”

“Yeah!” came Victor's voice. “After all this time, finally got a solid lead.”

“Someone saw the bastard?”

“Almost as good: Missy Bender. She's in Scotland. Fortunately, we have an extradition treaty. I'm catching the first flight to Europe.”

“That's a relief.”

“My car is downstairs, so I don't have a lot of time. We may call you to come to DC and testify.”

“All right. Good work, Victor.”

“Wish me luck!”

Bobby put down the phone, uttering a silent prayer as he did so. That was the one remaining cloud over all their heads. Bobby was pretty damned sure this Magnus person considered Cas his property, and he would be damned if he'd give up his boy, especially when he knew how the man treated – or mistreated – angels.

He was relaxing in the living room with a good Louis L'Amour novel when the phone rang again. “Grand Central Station!” he huffed, going to pick it up. He expected it was probably an update from Victor, but it was a different, though familiar voice on the phone.

“Is this, uh, the Singer residence?”

“Professor Shurley! Yeah, this is Bobby. Haven't heard from you in a dog's age.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I, uh, sure do appreciate those files you've been sending me.” Ever since their first visit to Prof. Shurley at the university, Cas had been making recordings of his bible readings for the eccentric academic. Bobby had recorded them on real cassette tapes at first, until the kids told him it was arcane, and showed him how to record Cas on the computer and turn it into files and suchlike. Bobby was very grateful to the professor, as the textbooks he had supplied had helped Cas start to communicate. His English was still a bit stilted, but the boy did fine.

“Well, we're glad. Anything we can do.”

“That's why I was, uh, calling. I was gonna be in Salmon County. And I was thinking, uh, maybe, I could stop by?”

“Well, that would be real nice! How about after school?”

There was a pause. “Castiel is in school?”

“Why he sure is,” said Bobby, who was quite honestly bursting with pride about this matter. “First time they've had an angel. And Miss Braeden told me he's one of the smartest in his class.”

“He's in school,” Prof. Shurley repeated. 

For some reason, this gave Bobby pause. “Prof. Shurley? Everything all right there?”

“Everything's- I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine. I'll, uh, I'll talk give you a call.” The line went dead.

Bobby stared at the phone for a time. “Absent-minded damned professor,” he grumbled.

 

The next day was unseasonably cold and grey, but Bobby got everybody rousted and on their way to school, with only a few grumbles here and there. And then it was off to work, where it was business as usual. He spent a bit of time on the case of a local haunting. The ghosts who lived in the old Manners house were complaining that their neighbors were playing their music too loud, and interfering with their hauntings, so Bobby had spent probably too much time talking to a bunch of kids with black hair and black clothes and black fingernails all about being good neighbors. They seemed like good kids, though Bobby shook his head with the realization that he was going to have a house full of teenagers himself very soon.

He returned to an urgent message from a colleague over at Coeur d'Alene, just across the border. “Sheriff Singer?” came the female voice at the other end of the line.

“That'd be me.”

“I'm Det. Ballard, Coeur d'Alene PD. I'm calling regarding the Coeur d'Alene Research Institute for Enochian Studies. I understand that you have a connection there?”

Bobby sat back. Talk about a blast from the past! “A connection? Well, not much of one, detective. It's a long story, but I've taken in an angel boy that we found on one of our cases. We raided a collector's house a while back. I did bring him over to your Institute on one occasion, but let's just say, I wasn't much impressed with their manners.”

“We found your name in the appointment book, and the receptionist, Anna, said she recalled speaking to you.”

Bobby smiled. “Yes, Anna is a real nice gal.”

“You are acquainted with Anna? So you are aware of the incident?”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

There was a pause. “We've been trying to keep it out of the papers for now. Someone or something got inside and really made a mess. One of the lead researchers, Naomi, was found dead. We haven't found the other partner, Metatron, though his blood is all over the place.”

“You think they had a fallin' out?” They both seemed like disagreeable people. 

“That's the working hypothesis. Until we catch up with Metatron.”

“They didn't seem to get on real well,” Bobby mused. “But I didn't expect it to turn out that way.”

“There was thing that struck me as odd. It looks like someone raided the files. That’s how we came up with your name. They were looking at the files on your visit.”

“Why would a partner do that?”

“That's the same question I've been asking. Well, I appreciate you talking to me, Sheriff Singer.”

“It's Bobby. And anything I can do, you don't hesitate,” Bobby told her. After writing down her telephone number, he hung up, but something was nagging him. Someone wanted the Institute's records? Cas's records?

Anna had sent them over to Prof. Shurley. Who had seemed awful darned curious about Cas's schedule when he’d called.

Bobby found he was chewing on his pen. He tossed it into the cup on his desk, and then got up. “Jody,” he said. “I'm heading home for lunch today. Got something to take care of.”

Jody squinted up at him. “Something up?”

“I ain't sure, actually. Call it a hunch.”

She nodded, and Bobby headed out to his car, walking fast.

 

“You gotta do it, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“Dean.” The angel glanced over at Sammy, who was sitting with his back against the wall, all curled up, arms around his knees, tears in his eyes. He was trying to be brave.

“I can't hold on to you, Cas, my wrist's no good.” Dean cradled his left arm – his wrist hurt like the dickens since he'd been thrown to the sidewalk. He'd recognized Missy Bender straight away when she came running out to the sidewalk, and had tried to warn off Cas. But that had gotten all three of them grabbed and hustled into the house. The good thing was that they weren't far from home. But the door to the room they’d been shut away in was not only locked up tight, but warded real good, so there was no way they were breaking out that way.

He rubbed his arm. It was either a sprain or a break, but either way, it was probably a while 'til he'd play baseball again. “You get Sammy out of here,” he told Cas, “and go get to Uncle Bobby's house.” 

It had to be done. Like Uncle Bobby had said, Dean was the older brother. He needed to take charge here!

Cas bit his lip. He didn't say much, but his wings were arched up, like he was determined. That was good. “Dean,” he said again. And then he suddenly caught Dean's face in his hands and stared like his eyes were piercing into Dean's very soul. “We will come back for you.”

Dean actually had to take a breath. There was no staring like angel staring. 

They nodded at one another and approached Sam. “Cas is gonna fly with you now, Sammy. You need to grab on tight. Like in the tree,” Dean told him.

Sam nodded. “But Unka Bobby said Cas isn't s'posed to fly.”

“It's just this once,” said Dean. “And besides Cas's feathers have grown back real good.” He looked at his little brother. “It'll be fun, right?”

Sammy blinked through tears, but nodded.

Dean moved over to the window and took another look around. It was a long drop from this high room down to the ground, but it seemed about the same height as when they were messing around playing kick the can. 

This had to work. 

He nodded to Cas, and pulled Sam close. They all braced, and Cas picked up the big, dumb bust of some Roman guy that was sitting there and tossed it through the window, shattering the pane. 

Some kind of alarm went off. Ignoring it, Dean leapt over to the window, and using his jacket wrapped over his good arm, broke out the remaining bits of glass. Cas held his wings close to fit, and, gripping Sammy tightly, and giving one last look over his shoulder at Dean, jumped out.

Dean held his breath.

While the alarm shrieked, Cas's dark wings unfolded, turning the fall into a graceful swoop, Sammy still gripped tight in his arms. And then they were down on the ground, running at full speed. 

The door behind him opened.

Dean grinned. Without looking around, he said, loud and strong, “Bite me!”

 

The sheriff was breaking the speed limit. Bobby wasn't sure what had gotten into him, but he floored it on the way home. He would probably laugh at himself later, he decided. Jittery old fool, is what he was.

He was down the block from his house when he saw them come running. He pulled the car up alongside the street and got out. “Why aren't you kids in school?” It only took one look to figure out something was very wrong.

Sammy launched himself into Bobby's arms.

Cas, pale and out of breath, could only mutter, “Dean!”

“What about Dean, boy? Tell me!”

Cas's wings ruffled up as he tried to catch his breath. “Missy Bender,” he manged to get out.

Bobby's blood froze.

“They got Dean!” Sammy wailed, wiping tears. “We were walkin’ to school. And they knocked Dean over, and his arm got hurt. They got us in the house, an' we were in a room, but then we broked the window and Cas flew. He flew him and me! Dean's still there!”

“We must rescue Dean!” said Cas.

“We'll get him! We'll get him right now. Are you two all right?” asked Bobby. There were tearful nods.

_“Whoosh!”_ Bobby smelled the sulfur and turned around. Both of the kids froze.

There was now a man standing in the middle of Bobby’s driveway. He had Dean, and was holding a knife to the boy’s throat. There were some strange sigils arranged in a circle around him. They looked like they had been written out in ash.

“Unka Bobby!” said Dean.

“Kids. In the house. Now,” Bobby ordered. Sam ran for the front door, but Cas stood fast, staring at the man.

“Cas,” scolded Bobby, but the angel did not move.

“Castiel? How about this?” said the man. “We'll trade.”

“You're Cuthbert Sinclair?” said Bobby.

“They call me, Magnus.”

“They're gonna call you _dead_ if you don't let my boy loose.”

Sam had gotten to the house and opened the front door. the hellhounds sprang out, wailing and barking. The broke for Sinclair, but then ended up edging around and around him, just outside the sigil markings, snuffling and snorting in frustration.

“I'm warded,” bragged Sinclair. “Neither your weapons nor your animals may harm me.”

“I ain't too sure about that.”

“Sure enough to risk this boy's life?” asked Sinclair, jerking Dean so the boy cried out.

“Dean!” yelled Cas.

“You want this boy released, Castiel?” asked Sinclair, speaking directly to the angel. “You have only to come with me.”

“Don't you do it, Cas!” yelled Dean.

“I've come for, you, Castiel,” said Sinclair.

“You don't own him,” said Bobby.

“No. But I have a claim to him. I am his father.”

Bobby had no words. But then he felt something: Cas's small hand, holding his, tightly as could be. He glanced down. Cas had that funny look on his face, like when he was talking to animals. “So that's why your Ma and Pa kicked you out?” he asked Sinclair.

“Idiots. Anahita and I – our love was true.”

“She died alone in a cage. You call that love?”

“The boy is _mine_.”

“Don't seem like he particularly wants to go.”

“It doesn't seem like he has a choice, does it? Castiel, come here. Now!” He shoved the knife deeper into Dean's neck, raising a trickle of blood.

Cas squeezed Bobby's hand and then let go. Slowly, he stepped towards Sinclair.

“Cas!” said Bobby.

“Cas, no!” yelled Dean.

All of them turned to the sound of pounding hoofbeats. Amalthea made quite a clatter when she was galloping, and she was at full trot. 

A unicorn at full charge is a rather impressive sight. She bounded over the fence like it was nothing, lowered her horn, and made towards Sinclair.

“No!” Sinclair managed to yell. 

It wasn't clear whether or not she could have charged right on through the protective markings. Maybe she could, maybe she couldn't. But they would never know. Sinclair was frightened enough to step back, just a bit, just outside the markings.

The hellhounds howled.

Sinclair realized his mistake, a fraction of a second too late. 

Cas was on Dean, pulling him away, wrapping him in his wings. 

And then the dogs were on Sinclair.

“Get in the house!” Bobby yelled at Sam, who was in the doorway. He pulled both Cas and Dean to him and herded them towards the doorway. 

“Is he gone away?” Sam asked. 

“He's gone,” said Bobby, shutting the door behind him. “He’s gone. You don't fuck with a damn unicorn.”

 

_Some weeks later...._

The doorbell rang, and the dogs began running around and barking like a couple of idiots.

“You two, knock that off,” Bobby scolded, knowing that it was no use. He flung the door open. “Ellen! Jo! You gals come on in.”

“I helped with the pie!” Jo announced, her braces gleaming.

“There's pie!?” asked Dean, who, despite the cast on his arm, seemed to have teleported into the room at the mention of sweets.

“For after dinner, young man,” said Ellen with a smile, but nevertheless holding tight to the pie pan.

“We got cake too!” Dean announced.

“Can I sign your cast?” Jo asked. “I just learned some really cool squiggles!”

“ _Sigils_ , Jo,” laughed her mom.

“It's gonna come off pretty soon and then I can play baseball,” Dean told her as they hurried off towards the back yard, where kids and dogs and a cat and a bat and even a unicorn were tearing around.

“I like the décor,” said Ellen, looking around at the bunting and crepe paper and streamers hung around the room.

“Thanks for comin' over to decorate,” Bobby laughed. 

“I get credit too!” yelled Jody. “You need a drink, Ellen?”

“You tending bar?” Ellen asked.

“I thought that's what we invited you for,” said Bobby. 

Half of Salmon County seemed to be crammed into Bobby's living room. Besides Jody and the Harvelles, Garth and his family were there, and the Lafitte family (sipping on their AB positive), and Charlie and the Bradbury family (Dumbledore the dragon was snoozing on the throw rug, blocking everybody's way) and Miss Braeden (Bobby had to school himself to remember to call her by her first name, Lisa), plus her son, and Miss Barnes the local librarian (who Dean absolutely insisted on inviting), and Rufus, and the neighbor lady had brought over a casserole.

The doorbell rang again, and Bobby rushed to get it. “Victor!” he said, reaching out to shake hands. “Didn't think you'd make it!”

“Almost got snowed in,” Victor huffed. He was holding hand with a wide-eyed little girl. “This is Jess. She's heard all about your boys, and really wanted to meet you. Hope you don't mind?”

“As my good friend Ellen Harvelle always says, there's always room for one more. You wanna come with me to meet the kids, Jess?”

She nodded, and Bobby took her hand, and as the adults shouted greetings to Victor, led her out to the back yard.

“Hello!” yelled Sammy as several kids and a couple of dogs came over to investigate.

“This here is Jess Henricksen, and she wanted to meet you all.”

Jo immediately jumped over and took her hand. “Hi, Jess! I'm Jo, and this is Sam, and that one is Dean, and this here his Castiel, and he's a real live angel!”

“Whoa,” said Jess. Cas cautiously extended a wing tip her way, and Jess brushed her fingers over his wing.

“You wanna play?” asked Dean, which was the only relevant question. She nodded, and skipped off with Jo.

Some time later, after Ellen had gotten into the bar and the adults were feeling relaxed, everyone managed to crowd into the dining room, and stand around the table, which had the extra leaves added into the middle, and was sagging under the weight of all the treats and snacks and bottles and whatnot. And right in front of Bobby was a big cake that read, “Happy birthday, Castiel.”

“They didn't really have the right cake, so the lady at the bakery suggested this one,” said Bobby. Cas, who was standing beside him along with Sam and Dean, pulled in his wings and looked shy. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “Wanted you folks around for this shindig so we could welcome Cas into the family. We got the adoption papers all signed – and real grateful to Agent Henricksen for helping out there.” Victor grinned, and there were some cheers and claps.

“Since the boy didn't have a proper birth date, we figured we'd just go ahead and use this day, since no one else was using it.”

“And presents!” insisted Dean.

“And presents,” laughed Bobby. 

People clapped and cheered, and then they lit the candles and the fire did a little dance above the cake, plus some of the Dryads had come on down from Ellen’s shelter (as they did when they had a notion) and danced around, and it was all real pretty. Then Cas opened up some presents. He got a baseball glove, and a couple of new cowboy novels, and a book on angel wing dynamics in flight, and a Cowboys vs. Zombies video game, and a big old scarf Rufus had knitted that just matched the blue in his eyes and had some protective sigils knit right in to keep the cold away. 

And then Ellen and Jo disappeared and reappeared with a special big box. “We had this guy show up at the shelter, and Sam and Dean told you might like to meet him,” Ellen explained. They tore off the paper, and a pair of bright blue eyes stared out of the cage. “He’s on Ocicat, so you’ll have to pay him a lot of attention.” Cas gasped and stuck a tentative hand into the cage. The kitten scrambled up his arm and mounted his shoulder, where he sat, contented, licking a paw. 

“Well, seems like you have a new owner, Cas,” joked Bobby.

Cas turned to Ellen and Jo. “Thank you, Aunt Ellen. Thank you, Jo.”

“You’re welcome!” said Jo, her braces glinting. She went and gave Cas a big hug.

“Thank you, Sam. Dean,” he told the boys.

“No problem, Cas!” said Dean, as Sam went up on tiptoe to give the kitten a scratch behind the ears.

Cas then turned to Bobby. He bit his lip.

“Th- Thank you. Father.”

Well, that just about did it for Bobby. He pulled the angel in, and got a wing hug in return, plus a a little paw pat from the kitten. Then he let go, and rubbed a sleeve across his face. “Well, what are we waitin’ on? There’s cake!” Because it seemed really silly to be making a fuss when there was so much good food, and friends all around.

“And pie!” Dean chimed in. 

And so there followed a lot of doling out food and then stuffing it into mouths. It was established beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ocicats didn’t much care for cake, but liked the frosting, and Dean could down two whole pieces of huckleberry pie in one sitting, and that hellhounds will eat any damn thing if it falls from a human plate. And Bobby ate some pie and ice cream, and rubbed his stomach, and wondered if it was possible for one person to be so happy. But then he found Margarita had perched on his shoulder. “You're too damned big and fat to be a kitten,” he scolded, handing up a bit of sweet berry filling. She switched her tail and purred, and all was right with the world, or at least the little bit of it Bobby Singer could see right now.


End file.
